Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Road Home

I travel a beautiful road between my house and my job. I have mentioned before that we live in the foothills of the Appalachians so there are winding curves and small mountains(well compared to the Rockies, just HUGE hills) . I see deer every day and sadly Ingrid has hit more than her share,(well actually, most of them have hit Ingrid) Some days I see cranes flying up from the river, soaring across the road in front of me just to land in a small lake.

I once saw a raccoon that was as large as a my dog Charlie who weighs about 25 pounds. I often see wild turkeys, who once came out into road in front of my car and just stopped and stared as I honked the horn trying to get them to move. A couple of summers ago, near one of the lakes,
a cotton mouth (scary aggressive snake) had coiled beside the pavement, coiled he would have filled a half bushel do I know he was a cotton mouth? I slowed down and when I looked he struck at the car.

There are wild black eye Susan that line about a half mile of the road now, as I drove by today, they sparkled and danced in the wind and sun. Normally this time of year, the forests that line this county road are filled with reds, oranges, golds that dazzle, but because of the heat and drought not much color. Except in this one S curve, one side is a rocky cliff, and the other is
a wide rocky creek that flows to the Mulberry River, today in the middle of the cliff there is a tree in a flame of glory. I couldn't stop to take a photo, but sometime tomorrow, I am going up and shoot a picture to show you all.

The road home is always beautiful no matter where you live. Home, whether an apartment,
a simple cabin, or something grand is where our hearts reside. The road may be a city street,
a winding road, it doesn't matter, just as long as it gets us home.
The anniversary of my mom's death is coming up the first week of November. She spent her last few days in a morphine stupor, I spent them filled with fatigue, grief, lost in a fog.
On the day of her funeral we drove down a section of the road that leads to my job, and I saw the fall colors for the first time, they were blinding, one of the most beautiful falls we have had in years. The weeks leading to her death had stolen my ability to look around me, to see the beauty of the road home. I remember asking Rick when had the colors changed.

Yesterday, my road home was filled with friends sending me texts making sure that everything had gone ok at the doc's. Rick had driven me, and he spent some of his time talking with an old friend who kept him laughing for a couple of miles. The road home, it really is being in the now,
being present with your life, taking the time to understand it's not just any old road,
it is the road home.

1 comment:

  1. There's this rode that winds through hills as you describe; it's basically a road on top of a ridge. It's between the expressway and the cemetery where my people are buried. We traveled that road when I was a kid. My mom driving and my grandmother in the passenger seat, my sister and I in the back. It is two lanes and trees grow very close to the pavement. They created a tunnel effect in the summer; a green leafy tunnel. So it was dark and Mom always said she hated that road because of its darkness.

    I travel this road at least once a year myself now, alone. I don't hate it but I do see it as a road home.