I have been driving back and forth between Rochester NY and Pittsburgh PA for some time now ever since both of our children have moved there. The road has become familiar enough that I am finally relaxing into the four and a half hour drive even as my sinews and bones become stiffer with the journey. I now welcome the symbols that encourage me that I have made progress. The odd discarded car cemetery in rural PA, the long marsh before Erie, the large windmill before Buffalo, the Indian welcome on the portion of the road through Seneca Nation. They pull me forward until I have to consciously slow my impatience with the last hour of the drive. I listen to my music and a meditation from Jon Kabat-Zinn reminding me that each moment is new and now.
With the frequency of the drive I have also started to notice the gradual change of the seasons before they burst forth. This winter started with an abundance of greys, whites and blues but has now started to shift to it's early spring palette. The snow has all but melted leaving dirty piles where the plows have pushed them. The tree trunks stand out now beige and brown among the grey. The willows have started to show their yellow sprigs and the maples, their red bulges, promising later buds and seeds. Grey green moss against the larger trees and the fallen sentinels promise another use to old wood. I, too, am finding new use for my old wood.
