Weblog entry:
- And miles to go.
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There’s something humbling about having a Vermont highway to yourself at 10.30pm on a snowy Friday evening. Wrapped somewhat thinly within the steel frame of my rental car, there’s not all that much separating me from a few hundred miles of isolation, dark, and quiet. I look up briefly from the highway into a too-white full moon, toward which a host of spiny fir trees seem to reach. Those evergreens stand indifferently before me, sentinels guarding the hills of home — they’ve done so for many years, and will continue to do so once I’ve whirred along to my destination.
And yet, despite the unnerving quietude of it all, I’m at a bit of a loss to think of anything much more romantic — and no, not in the Danielle Steele sense of the word, but thanks. There’s a kind of visceral, imaginative appeal of the remoteness of it all, being left to your path and your thoughts, and little else in between. There just seems to be a point where I almost wish the destination wouldn’t come, where this journey becomes the journey, without end or interruption. Silence and solace on a long, cold, winter evening, with thoughts of home and loved ones perpetually escorting me on my way.
But then I remember I’m in an economy-sized rental car, my legs are complaining about the lack of space, and it’s been a long day. I look at my watch.
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- 17th day of January 2003.
- Filed under Story, Memory.
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