December 12, 2007
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Sound of Thunder
Six hours, non-stop office to D.C., gloaming turning swiftly
black in these longest nights of the year, fog on the heights where the
menacing semis loom and fade; inclines indicated by the rental’s groan into
high gear.Lonely, tired, missing the kids. Too much caffeine, too much empty time in a
lifestyle otherwise bereft of a free moment.
Peopling the passenger seat with an array of fantasy figures, real or
imagined: what conversations could occur in this LED intimacy surrounded by blackness
and fog; what unspoken connections, what lasting bonds? Sans such companionship, the mind creates its
own: spins stories out of dreams and ghosts and bits and pieces of reality.The reception, nearing a city, suddenly clear and evocative:
Workin’ on our night
moves……
And oh the wonder
We felt the lightning
And we waited on the
thunder’76, Seger sweeping to fame on Night Moves, crossed the teen trajectory of me and how many others
on the road tonight: drivers grainy-eyed, line-faced, middle-aged behind a
wheel: in trucking and sales and
management and the corner office. How
many tuned in to the fog, the dark, the memory?We were just young and
restless and bored
Livin’ by the sword
Tryin’ to lose the awkward
teenage blues
Workin’ on our night
moves
And it was summertimeSoul’s summertime: back seats, bra
straps, fog on the windows: groping, seeking, panting energy, endless passion
for this and all else.I used her, she used
me
But neither one caredEchoes of sixteen, when hear the song touched our
inexperience. At 46, instead nostalgia flowers:I woke last night to
the sound of thunder
How far off I sat and
wondered
Started hummin’ a song
from 1962
Ain’t it funny how the
night moves
When you just don’t
seem to have as much to loseThe speed and the obscurity and the tune:
Strange how the night
moves
With autumn closing in
Comments (5)
Beautifully evocative. Blessings abound
I know quite a few people who really don’t care for long drives. I don’t mind so much, as it allows me to spend some time in my head. I’d do it at other times of the day, but since I don’t bring it to work, opportunities are limited. Throw in the aural time-travel capabilities of music, and your car can become another plane. (har har, I know…)
music to my virtual ears, my dear.
someday, indeed.
Traveling alone, at night; the inanimate headlights animated by the imagination’s ghost drivers; the world collapsed to the fringes of your on headlights; and the lonely company of the radio…”workin on the night moves”. A good time for nostalgia and reflection, bra straps and all.
Yeah…
Road trips always wax me into nostalgia as well.