Darkness. The only thing that really registers are the two endless constant restraints of vision. To my left, white or yellow dashes. They are interrupted only by reflectors in a symbiotic relationship with my headlights. To my right, solid white or yellow lines with rumble strips designed to rudely bring a drowsy driver back from the brink of death.
The night used to mean something more. It was a time of partying, relaxation, and sleep. Now, it is only less traffic and a fear of wildlife. Sometimes I reflect on the day and wonder if I appreciated its value before it ended. More times than not, these thoughts end with a final note of “needs improvement”. An elementary regard to rest upon. Then, grey light pierces the skyline and a breath of hope. This is the next day, although yesterday never truly ended for me.
I can only think at the speed of the highway hum I feel right now. Anything else would be unsettling. When the sun fully announces its presence, my windshield becomes a painting. The beautiful cliffs and rocks are exactly like a painting, artist unknown. The human race has for centuries searched for answers to the artists identities and indeed have died and killed for what they eventually threw their hands up in the air and decided must be true. We ask why for so long, eventually we know there isn’t really a concrete answer. That’s when we accept the cosmic rules of engagement with our fellow man… and the rewards and punishments realized through rights and wrongs.
When I look at my ever changing windshield paintings, I take comfort in considering it magical. I have no desire to breakdown the geological certainties about why these cliffs and rocks are there. That would taint the beauty of them to me. That’s how it is with my faith. 

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