A man leans into the gusts of life’s despairing winds.  He pushes out his chest and takes the blows.  But a quiet surely comes and he will account for his life. In this stillness, the man takes stock of his loves and the meanings inside his soul.  

Driving down route 67, he stared ahead at the yellow lines as they blipped by on his left.  It was his time of quiet.  He looked down at the hood of his truck as it ate the miles.  “I love my truck”, He thought to himself.  “It’s faithful, it looks good and it’s mine.  It goes where I go and never complains about the journey.  Does a man need much more than this?”

He thought about the things a man like him might love, if loving and relating one’s self to them were reasonable.  He loves his guitar as many years of joys and sorrows have poured out of her.  She gave him a voice that he could not find in whiskey.   And even though that voice has quieted, he can still see her sitting there at the ready.  Like some sort of hopeful promise that may yet whisper to him again.  

He loves the woodlands in the Fall where a man can recognize and contemplate a season of his life.  He cannot possess the Autumn, but he can sit beneath it and watch the leaves of his youth fall to the ground. 

Maybe he could love a cabin and gravel roads in the way of fantasy…  in the same way that old men dream of escaping and no one knows when or where they have died.

He could love a horse that takes him through the mountainous trails.  Ever the faithful companion, he is keen to explore the unseen hills in solitude with his lone rider as they seek out wonder. And every crested hillside breathes another question.  

But this man has already sold most of his life.  So he drives this truck and thinks on other wonders.   

Legacy… something he did not build.  He meant to.  He always assumed he could die surrounded by his wife and children.  But, he never got around to any of that.  

The highway lines continue on though.  And so does his quiet. He knows that time is in those lines.  Then, one day, his eyes will close and open somewhere else.  And who will find him? And who might know?

But for now, in this night, he still loves his truck.