sixteen hundred and seventy nine miles
roundtrip,
same route there
and back,
a dozen hours
in motion,
a scattered hour
for relief and refueling.
driving north in waning light,
driven by anticipation,
keeping anxieties unspoken,
so ready for an adventure.
drifting south in brilliant dawn light,
through pine forests waiting for spring,
carried by an exhilaration,
held close and quiet,
one’s own experience
universally shared.