Wednesday, January 5, 2011

station to station.

The car pulled itself onto the glistening blacktop, tire treads grinding above roadside rumble strips to the rhythm of the blinking second indicator on the dashboard clock flashing "6:23 AM" over and over again like a parrot in Miss Havisham's mansion. Along the far-away convex edges of the valley, the dense layers of fog suffocated the porchlights dotting the mountainsides, flickering fireflies darting out between breaks in low-hanging clouds.

And, in the full three-hundred-and-sixty degree panorama surrounding him, it all looked as still as a nativity scene. News vans and milk trucks making their morning rounds and their trails of exhaust, exaggerated by the early January cold, did their best to make the morning as kinetic as possible, but he contentedly sipped gas station coffee, held his hands to the heater vents, and kept an eye on the rolling odometer.

It was morning again, and things were always new in the morning.