Tall like a Georgia pine

Southbound through the city of Chicago and skirting the lake on into Gary- little city brick houses and bungalows perfectly in a row down tree lined streets with minivans and vintage Oldsmobiles. Who lives in those tiny little perfect houses with the wear and tear of city grime and lake effect weather patterns and how often do they gaze out from the upper room that looks onto a highway with steaming traffic and rushing cars and think of faraway places?

The unexpected grace of a cop who pulled us over in out little chartreuse rental Mini Cooper car: "We're headed to see friends in Durham, NC" we tell him and he forgives us for our 80 mph error.

Pass Indianapolis and the fall colors of i65 that is so breathtaking you know you are so lucky to have picked this very weekend to travel south. The fields of corn stalks and other crop turn purple maroon in the setting sun. Come Kentucky with miles and miles of paralleling brown fences that stretch on way past the point where I can see them anymore.

Into dusk and then nightfall as Ben takes over to wind us through the Appalachian mountains: barely visible in the mild fog and low hanging half moon. The hills and mountains occasionally make dark, frightening forms from where we drive and we debate if we can drive all the way to Durham tonight. Arrive 3 am and sneak quietly into a home where our friends reside: the Georgia pines greet us and accompany us on our little morning jog to work off all that road trip fast food.