Sometimes the drive is calm.
The road ambles over licorice-twisted hills,
All gold-plated by the sun and
Reflection of dazzling yellow leaves.

You lean back in comfort.
You count cows and telephone poles,
Think of countries that start with the letter “A,”
Look out through the windshield
At a world that’s simple
And beautiful.

Sometimes the drive is tumultuous.
White vortex swirls around the car’s nose.
Wind howls, a tree appears out of nowhere,
And we barely escape with our lives.

You sit, gripping whatever you can,
Staring at anything still, though nothing is still.
Nothing solid or safe, the world is
Terrifying.