Susan LaffertyBackroads. On the way to somewhere.
And we pass narrow paths disappearing into the woods. Trees tall and leafy obscure our view of where they’re going.
Deeper in.
Then, one day we take a path. Into a national forest.
Eighth grade. My bike traveled smoothly, softly in the quiet. On the dirt path through bamboo forests.
Shaded relief from strong tropical sun on a humid day.
Freedom. Breeze lifting my hair.
Lacework of bamboo shadows flowing over me. With bits and pieces of bright sunlight.
Rest.
“Just sing to Me.”
Memory rises up. From twenty years ago.
I’m traveling in the river of motorcycles and public transport vehicles. Cars and buses. All pressed together in the rush of a mountain city’s traffic.
Navigating the ebb and flow as I drive. Mentally engaged. But not.
Thoughts drift far away. Heart sits heavy.
All around me, the hum and blare of engines revving, horns blowing, peddlers calling.
