driving on 9

Yesterday, driving in to work, my concentration like a butterfly buffetted by a stout Nor'Wester in Christchurch. The clouds hunkered down on the west hills, rain caressed the air in a warm, good-natured mist, and things were generally as Portland as possible. I listened to the Verve. I couldn't believe it, sitting there, immersed in the essence of the place, that I was also in charge of piloting a rather large and heavy machine.

Not large and heavy as that type of machinery goes, certainly, but capable of great damage nonetheless. It just hit me, for some odd reason, and I couldn't believe that they allowed me, that they trusted me, to pilot this thing. Sure I took the test, and sure I passed it. And I'm smart, and able-bodied... but maybe they should have given me another test, too. A mind focus test. Maybe I should take one every time I get behind the wheel of a vehicle.

Waiting behind a string of cars on Murray Boulevard, the light turned green and my mouth dropped open. Against the backdrop of several parallel planes of trees-and-clouds, lighter and murkier as they marched backwards, the traffic light with its bright green lens appeared a beautiful, bright, shining beacon. While my mind processed this sight, I was already blocks away, closer to the office.