Change Due

 

I drive. The fields are more than yellow reaching up the coast, up oak studded hillsides, up to Pacific colored sky, reflections of clouds on the ocean far below. 

I drive and let the thoughts come and go as I pass adobe missions and forgotten towns and catch glimpses of cloth wrapped heads, strong hands, bodies twisted picking and sorting and loading in vast fields. 

I drive and keep driving and keep driving. Away and into the tears. Away and into the joy. The past, the future, the now.

I drive and listen to the wind buffeting the car as it gusts off mountains and over pale brown soil, the whispering of trees in its breath. I poke at my phone and blast overly played playlists reminding me of people and places far behind. I listen to the whir of internal mechanics, the car’s and my own, reverberating against the sticky asphalt and billboards proclaiming Garlic Wine! and I wonder where the ability to steer between us starts and ends.

I drive and in driving I sit with myself for hours. I sing and think and listen and see. 

I drive. 

I am drive and motion and blurring lines. The journey is now. The destination is (already) here.