For three decades, the rhythmic monotony of a soul-numbing 45-minute commute to the Twin Cities had become an indelible part of my daily existence. The interstate highway system, that grim labyrinth of twisted, varicosed concrete veins, reverberated daily with the mechanical growls and asphalt whispers, the dissonant roars of angry drivers. Casting a looming abyss over my daily stress-laden journey, it sprawled before me like a malevolent specter, its shadows laden with the weight of despair, enveloping me in a perpetual, grim dance with the asphalt abyss…
The transition to a rural office nestled along a winding river, each day taking me through deep valleys and sprawling countryside, has marked the emergence of a particularly mesmerizing daily drive. The gentle rustle of leaves has replaced the hiss of interstate traffic; fresh-cut alfalfa has replaced the smell of diesel. Each turn of the winding road unveils a new panorama, with the river mirroring the changing hues of the sky. As the odometer of time turns, so does the landscape of my daily routine, providing solace to a weary soul and infusing each commute with a sense of tranquility and awe.
Trout Lily Studios 