Driving in Bleach

This morning I drove in the fog. Staring ahead at the hazy forms looming in the distance, I reflected upon the path to my own future. The charcoal cutouts of denuded trees provided little to look forward to, yet the bleached horizon created an ethereal—almost magical—blanket around the microcosm of my car. Shimmering spotlights of white pierced like eyes through the mist, coquettishly winking in the soft dawn glow. Yet all but the nearest objects were desaturated, drained of life’s essence.

“Where am I going?” I thought. “Am I just another anonymous driver journeying to another anonymous destination?”

Nothing but the purr of my engine replied.

But it was enough. This light rumble reminded me once again of the immediacy of life. That life waits not for uncertain futures, nor for fading pasts. That life takes the moment—the vivid, explosive moment—and crafts with it a vignette which no words can rival. And that “Carpe Diem”—the oft-repeated, seldom apt quip—means not the illumination of the gravel beneath my wheels but the fading of the road ahead and behind.

No comments:

Post a Comment