i’m dreaming of a miles-and-miles-long ribbon of open road unraveling in front of me, of the sunlit floor of Nebraska bright yellow against the dark anvil cloud of a storm growing time-lapse in real time. i’m watching the black clouds devour the horizon, and i’m pressing down on the accelerator. i’m pulling over at a rest area when the rain is too heavy and looking up through the moonroof window. this is what the bottom of a river feels like. i’m hearing Beck play muffled under the layer of downpour.

then i’m rolling down the window to soak in the sudden sun, to smell the clean scent of wet earth. i’m pushing the Civic to 80 and clicking on the cruise control. i’m switching out Odelay and pushing in the Köln Concert–a different kind of speed.

i’m seeing lighting in the rearview, feeling the last whisper of thunder reaching out for me. i’m breathing in deep, knowing that Keith Jarrett’s sighing piano will dissolve the rumbling threat into a million pieces.

then i’m looking straight ahead, seeing home somewhere on the horizon, and i’m continuing west.