I am driving on the interstate, heading west. My path curves up the on-ramp through the wintery trees and between worn guardrails. Carefully, I check blind spots, and merging onto the road heading south, I accelerate.
Between the woods the afternoon
Its fallen in a golden swoon,
The sun looks down from quiet skies
To where a quiet water lies,
And silent trees stoop down to the trees.
And there I saw a white swan make
Another white swan in the lake;
And, breast to breast, both motionless,
They waited for the wind’s caress. . .
And all the water was at ease.
– The Mirror, by A.A.Milne