Now I'm going 20 miles one-way to get money to pay for little things like light, sewer, water, food, and insurances.
And the gas to go 20 miles one-way.
So I can pay for . . .
After 5 1/2 months, I'm falling into a rhythm.
Got it timed pretty well.
The easiest way is to drive a block, turn left, go straight for 26 minutes with a lotta other commuting folks then pull into the parking lot.
But The Road Less Traveled takes only 20 minutes. It involves a few more turns and twists but it has a "count-on-one-hand" number of workday commuters using it.
And a whole lotta thrill-seeking wildlife eaglerly awaiting the chance to try "Dancing With The Cars".
Gimme The Road Less Traveled any day.
The last few days have yielded daily sightings of good-sized snapping turtles. The big females are just off the highway, their back ends buried in the dirt, inches from the edge of the blacktop.
Just four or five feet from hurtling cars.
And they're laying eggs.
When they're done, the dirt is replaced and they wander back to the lakes and cricks to wait another year.
Talk about absentee parents, eh?
And what is the first thing Baby Turtle sees after fighting its way outta the shell?
"Welcome to Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, little turtle, and today Mr. Rogers is showing us how to drive LOGGING TRUCKS!"
Yep.
The future looks short and flat for Timmy Turtle and his family.
A little further down the road I see the prophecy fulfilled.
One of the moms was slow crossing the road.
It looks like a busted watermelon. With legs.
I take a sip of the Elixir and ponder something. I'm not sure what it is but I can feel it coming.
The Elixir of Knowledge works as well out of a Styrofoam cup as it does out a porcelain one, jarring an uncomfortable thought loose, tumbling it roughly, painfully, to the front of my mind.
Huh.
Oh man.
Am I letting my kids grow up next to the road?
Do I give 'em good directions?
Am I teachin' 'em the right things-the things that matter, really matter-or do I leave 'em to learn on their own?
Learn the hard way?
On their own while I do my thing, looking after my life, career, interests, and goals?
Oh, God.
No.
I come around the corner and there's a young wild turkey standing almost on the road, getting gravel for its crop.
I throw the car to the left and zip by the perplexed youngster who is too overwhelmed to even move.
As my breathing goes back to normal, my mind and soul begin to pray.
Pleading, actually.
Help me to pay more attention to them. Show me what to show them.
And please, PLEASE, Lord -
don't let them be roadkill.