Come With Me On A Mountain Drive
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Connecticut in the summer time was often hot and muggy. The air was thick like a blanket of moss. It seemed like summer days were in a time warp, stretched out as if a few days were playing out in just one long lazy day.
My mom had a 1967 convertible Mustang that she liked to drive, the pretty way, whenever possible. This meant taking the smaller backroads, shaded by the tall trees lining the narrow streets. Looking up at the sky, the trees passing by, was a treasured joy of summertime when I was a kid, hanging out with my mom. I loved the freedom of the top down, warm air flowing, nothing to confine or restrict me. Even the seatbelts back then were just a strap that buckled across the lap and didn’t have that automatic tightening mechanism that locks you into place these days - as if reaching for the dashboard is perceived as imminent danger.
These days, many of us are facing quite a few restrictions. And for anyone who values their freedom of movement, it can certainly be a challenge. A saving grace for me has been to go for a leisurely drive in the mountains once a week. Doesn’t matter that it’s the same road I’ve driven for the past five months, it still delights me every time. It’s always different even though it’s also always the same. I might spot the Blue Morpho butterfly that I love so much, or take notice of a flower I hadn’t seen before. I never tire of taking in the bright pink or vibrant cerulean blue painted houses.
So, come with me, and see some cows grazing along hillsides, water running downstream, grasses swaying in the breeze and a vista that always delights me.
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