It stormed today. Hailed even. Norm and I were in town when the worst of the storm hit. As soon as we were able, we got on the road to come home before the next predicted wave hit.
We witnessed fallen trees in our path. I am always saddened by the sight of a dying tree, but I thanked the universe for sparing the lives of those unfortunate (or unsuspecting) travelers who had to brave the weather. Swift road crews had already begun working to clear the roads of debris. Grâce à Dieu.
Early seventies music – my mom’s music – was playing on the radio. Neil Young. I find it hard to listen to seventies music. It always takes me back to my childhood in the sad little city. Mama struggled to scrape enough nickels to put a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. She worked hard to keep us together, but her efforts did little to assuage the sadness that enveloped my soul. Yet she tried.
This music takes me back to that place, a place I’ve been running from my entire adult life.
As we turned off the highway. Norm said, “Isn’t this a pretty road?” I agreed. The road that leads to home, even covered with the storm’s detritus, is beautiful. In spite of it all.