Rhythm of the Road

Just load me into the car and send me off to the grocery store and the ideas come flooding in. Don't drive me there--I fall asleep when someone else is at the wheel. Don't ride shotgun --I'll talk to you. Just send me off alone and my ever fertile (fevered?) subconscious will swing into action. A month after my mother's death, speeding down MoPac Expressway gave me the seminal line for a sonnet about our relationship.

Of course, I have to pull over to record my clever ideas before they dissipate into highway miasma. Driveways, parking lots, rest stops--they're all fair game. In the city, I pray for stoplights or stop signs. (Please don't honk.) If I don't have a tablet, I'll use my the deposit slips in my checkbook (what else are they good for?) or the palm of my hand.

I think it's something about being alone with the rhythm of the road. Hey--is that a good line or what!