Ever have one of those days all you want to do is get away? We all have. So, what is it you like to do when it is time to get away?
For me, it is the open road. I like to snag the nearest Interstate and head that way.
As the miles fall away, the wind whips whatever is stuck in my craw out through the ends of my hair. The breeze is fresh on my skin. It blows the cobwebs out of the brain.
In a week where deadlines loom large, it is easy to get caught up. The to do list seems unending. The cacophony of tasks all clamoring to be the most important.
Mantra was right there to remind me where it is I find the calm with a little poem called Speed.
Speed is also a large warning. See for yourself.
Leather under my fingertips,
Supple. Run my palms along it.
Wrapped around me like second skin.
The wanton perfume I drink in.
Close my eyes. Feel the power
Surging. Daring me to tame it.
The quiet roar of the throttle.
Whoosh! Genie out of the bottle.
Asphalt fades into smooth concrete.
Swaying. Hug the curves beneath it.
Low in. High out. Accelerate.
Yes, still power to generate.
Wind to the red line, the engine
Whining. The limit. I pushed it.
Popped clutch. Quick shift. Bigger gear.
Another roar I long to hear.
Open road beckons be followed.
Cruising. Wind whips out cares with it.
Speakers blare forgotten lyrics.
Road heat creating gremlin tricks.
Tires squeal in protest with smoke
Curling. Roll leaves road behind it.
End over end. Then fiery blast.
My first taste of speed is my last.