I drove the narrow roads searching for answers. Habit guided the wheels. I’d been this way before. The woods were bare, punctuated here and there with a lone pine or southern magnolia. The skies were gray, no shadows or highlights today. December dampness deceived the West Georgia hills hiding their thirst and making all seem well.
I often go driving aimless. Wandering. Searching for answers to questions I don’t even know. Some might call it contentment. In some ways it is. How do you long for what can’t be described? Unless one had known the taste of Eden he wouldn’t hunger for it.
So, I go driving. Please, no radio. The hills never shout. They only whisper.
Perhaps I would hear more if I walked. Walk!? Oh come now Hills let us reason together. Might not a treadmill be sufficient? Yes. Yes, I can do treadmill in 2008. Might not treadmill at Curves be sufficient? Hello. Hello! Hills! Hills, you still there?