fall notes: roadtrip

You leave town later than you'd planned,
nearly 11 by the time you fill the gas tank
and point the car north.  But the day

is radiant, and entirely yours. 
Your daughters sing along
from the backseat; The Lumineers,

Modest Mouse, the Avett Bros. 
Familiar landmarks stand
a bit taller than usual
against the brilliant
blue of sky.  The highway

unfurls beneath your tires
in limitless possibility.
It is Sunday
and you've packed a lunch,
bathing suits, a camera.
An adventure is in order.


 

Picnic at the Lewis and Clark Caverns.

 

Dark skies on the way to Norris.

 

Weary traveller.

 

Waiting for the storm to pass at Norris Hot Springs. Nearby lightening cleared the pool.


Yes! Mom, the pool's open!

 

Recharged and perhaps fueled with a bit of junk food.

 

Dropping into Ennis for dinner.


The day's last light. And many miles still to go.


Sandhill Cranes above, wet highway below.

From your booth at the diner in Ennis, 

you watch the windows grow completely black.  

There are three small televisions 

on the walls, all showing the same football game.

The girls alternately cheer for Chicago,

then Pittsburg, amusing the quiet tables

of flyfisherman and cowboys.  You give them quarters

to ride the automatic horse, the little train

with seats for two.

It is after 8 when you drive back

onto the highway.

In the backseat, the girls nestle

beneath their blankets

and close their eyes.

The going is slow.  Heavy clouds

and rain, a nearly empty highway,

lousy windshield wipers, the possibility

of hormonal deer charging into

your headlights.  You squint, grip

the stearing wheel.  55 mph 

for the next two hours.  

Gillian Welch sings her sad

songs as the occasional

semi sends waves of rain

into your windshield.

You can hear the girls

breathing quietly from the backseat

and you remember how,

as a child you loved 

driving at night with your parents,

how safe and warm, and protected

you felt moving across black

landscapes long after bedtime.

You take a deep breath,

relax your grip

and put your trust 

in the miles of dark highway

ahead.