driving
In the city I am at ease at the wheel. I find it simple weaving in and out of traffic, yielding, merging, stopping at pedestrian crosswalks. It is a familiar, crowded environment. Nothing is unexpected.
Out in the country, however, I drive with both hands gripped firmly to the steering wheel. My cagey eyes dance from one view to the next. It is open and empty, and I am suspecting of every shadow, every hill, every stop for a train.
Out in the country, however, I drive with both hands gripped firmly to the steering wheel. My cagey eyes dance from one view to the next. It is open and empty, and I am suspecting of every shadow, every hill, every stop for a train.