Sunday, April 8, 2018

Divine Mercy Sunday on the 294

Once I’m past the toll plaza gate, I’m in the
chute. Eastbound or westbound, Ohio or
Chicago, no turning back without
hassle and a fee.
It’s a river, and no matter how many times I
run its course, there are flashes and
splashes of fresh sights and sounds, plus
strangers floating alongside – on their way to
destinations of their own.
And once I drift over to the Tri-State after
sidling into Illinois, I’m committed again. Miles
tick by, and the transponder silently posts my
tribute. It’s the contract I signed when I
flopped down on the current of the
road. The cost accounted for a priori; a free
exchange – cash for mobility. 
Northward lies Wisconsin. Cheese shops, Harleys, and
hills. Headaches and hope – who knows what can
happen? But I won’t make it that far today. About
halfway, I’ll turn around – the funny kind of
turnaround required by the Tri-State: Proceed from the
oasis, a few miles or more, then exit, re-enter, and
back on the current in the opposite direction. 
Another tentative journey to be continued.