#47 Mile Marker 164
Lying in wait, the post stands alone. The middle of the journey The road in halves
Gone far enough not to turn around. Far from destination still. Hours turn to millenia. White lines dot the journey in my mind.
Sliding through the veins of the interstate. Snaking from home to home. Path so familiar, yet so lonely.
Trusted companions, in person and on the radio, punctuate the drive. Keeping me sane.