Doris Lynch

Night Driving

While driving west on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, wedged in the narrow spaces between semis, I nudge the borders of the Alleghenies. I never memorized my native state’s geography until my twenties when I stuck out a thumb and sought rides to Hawk Mountain to watch flyover raptors soar.
 
I love the peace of nighttime driving. Its smoothness. Its dark shield that encourages hope and possibilities. Hidden from view, mountain cabins offer the promise of a forest hermitage.  In that transitional zone between rain and fierce snow, flurries appear.  Above towns, sometimes I barely discern the breast mounds of hills, while a road here and there climbs into the clouds.  On the highway, I press the gas pedal gently, then brake on sharp curves judicially with finesse. Negotiate not hammer. On both sides of the turnpike, I sense high plateaus where farms and faraway peaks provide peace and plentitude. Even hours after sunset, pine forests along ridges invite me to explore a wild, less peopled world.
 
After ten, the traffic eases and I conquer the miles easily. On this Saturday after Thanksgiving, the left lane becomes a chute rather than a farting, honking parking lot where other drivers and their families look jailed in vehicles, forbidden easy passage.

above the viewpoint
the diamond lance
of Orion's sword

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About the Author

Doris Lynch has been writing haibun for over 10 years. Her work has appeared in Haibun Today, cho, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, and FemkuMag, among others. She also writes in longer forms.