This morning I rediscovered the joy and the beauty of the open road at sunrise. Something about headlamps reflecting white off the lane markers and the emptiness of the roadways makes this nomad heart of mine sing and yearn to keep driving. I am a writer, but poetry is a prose that completely eludes me. It is akin to my high school years on the track team. I could run the 100- and 200-meter dashes and soar in the long jump and triple jump, but the dexterity of the hurdles and nuances of the high jump always remained beyond my grasp. This morning, however, as I drove east on I-40 in the pre-dawn shadows, I felt inspired and almost believed I could construct a poem good enough to honor the magnificence of the sunrise and voice the feelings such a vision evoked within me. Sadly, however, two hours later, under gray fog in the campus parking lot, that magic has faded. Should I have pulled over and scribbled the words filling my heart? Or at least spoken them aloud, given them life instead of allowing them to die undeclared? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps instead I should remain alert for other such moments in my days and resolve that, if at that time I am not driving seventy mph down a freeway, I will then endeavor in my attempt to vocalize the splendors.¡Hasta pronto, mis amigos!
~N
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