This morning’s clouds and fog are a god’s wet washcloth wrung out and smothered down on the earth like a mother cleaning a child’s face. Unbelievably there are blaze-orange vested workers doing something workerish in the highway’s median. The wheels of a semi hauling an undisclosed liquid chemical picks up the damp the asphalt roadway couldn’t absorb and my daughter calls out familiar landmarks. “McDonalds! Target!”
Today we are going. Today we are en route. Today we are no where. Today we are in the car.
Fallow fields stabbed with corn stalks alternate with those greening with winter wheat and others punctuated with round bales. A minnow store I’ve never noticed.