I'm on a six-lane highway at 80 miles an hour and unaware of what's beyond the trees and fence that line this road; it is my world - all of my world - I am cocooned in it; and while I drive and gauge distances and speeds and consider the other cars and how they compare with mine in terms of what they cost to buy and run and how they perform, never do I think of what their destinations are or what awaits those who travel in them when the brake's applied and the key is turned that kills the engine dead.
One sight alone drags me from this roaring artery where speeds are so flexible, ranging from the whizzing by of vehicles heading headlong into landscapes which are glued into my past, to the ever-so-slowly creeping towards the car that's just in front; it's the sight of vehicles taking to a slip road, and at its top, waiting to make a right or left on a country road.
That road always seems so filled with mysteries to me. Bending away and taking those who travel on it through towns and villages I've never seen; past woods and fields, streams and spires and ultimately, I always think, to a home with kisses and tea, and a sitting back with shoes kicked off - and not another thought of the six-lane highway I'm still on; the world of bleak intensities, filled with noise and speed
where I`m stuck.
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