Every once in a while we need to just sit back and think. Or not think, as the case may be. Find a quiet, secluded spot, make ourselves comfortable, and contemplate. Perhaps it is our navels, perhaps it is the mysteries of the cosmos, and perhaps it’s just frustration with Edith Crawley’s simpering melodrama — but these large issues need time.
In a city that knows how to keep its secrets, I will be contemplating the answers to life’s persistent questions*, and so will be a little quiet for a bit. In a few weeks, though, I’ll be back in force, never fear.
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* Bonus points if you know the source of my paraphrasing.
Drifting snow snakes across the highway,
Steaming like a young woman’s dreams
Of the life she left behind her,
In the rear-view mirror, no more to be seen.
Far ahead stretches the long and lonesome road,
Curving over hill and dale,
Reaching ever forward to horizons,
No arrival, always on the trail.
Mountains yet stand sentinel,
Sheathed all in white,
Passes to be crossed between
Today and endless night,
That which came before her, and
Ahead still out of sight.
Precarious to navigate,
Downgrade in low gear,
Long-haul truckers keeping
Company with her fear,
But the tires keep their traction
And she puts them to her rear.
The tires sing out their lonely
One note melody,
The white line draws a promise of
A brighter future yet to be,
If she can but follow and
Open eyes to see;
He is far behind her and
Now she’s finally free.