Road less Travelled

Golden plains like the Sea.
And through them a Road that Longs for the Departing Sun.

I have spend so much of my life in seeking. I feel more comfortable on the search. A quiet road, stretched out before me, fills me with a sense of anticipatory calm. I am most at ease in rhythmic motion: walking, bicycling, painting, writing, on a train, on or beside the sea, amidst wind and rain.

Years ago, on a motorcycle trip from Colorado to California, as my companion and I were heading across Utah farmlands on a quiet road, the wind began to pick up. The light over the amber fields turned gold, while to our right the sky darkened into midnight purple. Handfuls of crows wheeled at the edge of what I realized were sheets of rain and lightening, moving steadily to meet us at a point in the near distance – on that brilliant horizon.

I felt heady and alive as the wind gained intensity. My partner dropped his throttle. I realized he intended to outrun the torrent and matched his speed. For long minutes, I wondered when we would be forced to stop. The storm was ominous and churning like angry Gods, (and definitively wet). Stopping didn't hold much appeal. The road continued to unfold with the minutes, surprisingingly, continuously dry in front of us.

Then, over a small rise, a sudden sharp bend to the left appeared. Elated, we sped with fresh determination and finally rounded the turn to put the wind to our backs. As our eyes fell with relief on the gold of Elysian fields stretched out before us, we chased the sun through the fields out of the reach of that tempest.