commute chronicles

I like to think of the commute as a sacred act. There is something profound in its repetition.

> jazz in the speakers

> snow on the windshield

> let’s go!

In a way, it mirrors life itself. Commutes contain constant change, and yet nothing really ever changes. Traffic ebbs and flows, leaves turn and fall, but you always end up in the same place.

> the fallen branches

> of a storm

> just missed

My journey would begin with a quick drive through the fields of suburbia. The road was narrow, but the sights reassuring.

> the morning opens

> an icy fog

> and a frozen field

After a short while, I’d take the entrance to the glorious highway. Three lanes and buttressed with pines—everything a road should be.

> a jungle of mist

> yet under clear skies

> i drive

There was often traffic at the entrance, as this was a road where many would convene. Frustrating to be sure, but like everything I would let it pass.

> a cozy road

> lined with trees

> on a cold winter’s morning

The traffic always lifted, as if by magic. It was here that I could truly enjoy my prayer.

> a swirl, a flick, a dance

> the wisps of snow

> above the tarmac

Somewhere on that road was the sliver of a tree towering right above a powerline. It leaned out into the road and, lonely in its day to day existence, wanted to greet the passersby as familiar colleagues. I always gave that tree a friendly smile.

> a radio tower and clouds

> on a mountain

> of trees

I could drive down that highway forever, but all things must end.

> a smile across my face

> the tips

> begin to change

My journey brought me to a one lane road that starts with a foray under railroads.

> i glide past

> the bushes

> reach out to touch

This one lane road was full of stop and go traffic. But it had myriad sights along the way to keep my attention somewhat piqued.

> as quick

> as a snap

> the summer rain

There was a particular stretch of road that contained three traffic lights, one immediately after another. Were you to hit one, you’d get stuck behind all three. But occasionally, when I was able to time it just right…

> a contented sigh

> and the sky

> smiles back

> peering through the window

> there is nothing

> but cold

The Return is always more precious. Your tasks done for the day, all that remains is home. And returning home is very much like falling—all you’ve got to do is embrace gravity’s pull.

The walk from my work to my car was always sublime. Short, but important. A reminder of the grandeur of nature.

> i look up

> and the leaves,

> they’re dancing!

The path was always swept and the way clear, but I loved to meander to the car park.

> like a canvas

> i inhale

> the sky

> an orange glow

> in stasis

> the world hangs

Oft times I’d stop at the door of my car and admire the world. The rustling of leaves, a gentle breeze, and I had nothing at all to do—glorious!

> take a moment and breathe

> the snow falls all around me

> i guess it’s time to go

> darkness descends

> with a warm breeze

> is this not autumn?

To drive a night was a different prospect altogether.

> the dark of night

> the light of high beams

> and a flurry of leaves

> the clouds

> lumber to the

> edge of night

Within the metal box of a car, I was separated just enough from the rest of the world for it to be eerie. Calming, but unnerving at the same time.

> howling wind and

> the pitter patter of rain

> and all I hear is humming

> the rain

> and the wipers

> and a silent car

Perhaps the most memorable night was the last. I took a long walk round before driving home.

> the stillness

> right after sunset

> on a snowy green

Commutes are sacred things. And this sacred ritual I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

> a last glimpse

> snow covered

> a breath and a smile

home