How big is Texas? Even driving at the posted speed limits of 75 or 80 mph, it takes two overnight stops to traverse it. The bad news is that they generally didn’t route the interstates through the best scenery (something about the good stuff being already busy or elsewhere or both). The good news is that the route doesn’t much affect the sunrises and sunsets.
I was inspired by said rises and sets to tackle two haiku, one free verse, and a few photos taken at speed through the car windshield and on foot in a motel parking lot. Under Music of the Week, Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick tackle them metaphorically in music.
Bright slivers widen,
Frosting the far horizon.
Night loses its grip.
Earth slides up to meet
the sky, concentrating hues.
Day’s last gasp. Today.
Heading East on Interstate 10
A hinged lid on a kettle barbeque,
the sky cracks open in front of us,
barely lighting the punctuated flatness all around
but blinding with a glimpse of what lies beyond.
What lies ahead.
Rolling open above us
it pauses for what seems like hours
with hardly any change and rarely any comment.
Is it sleeping? Thinking? Off doing errands?
Ohmygod, is it stuck?
At the last possible minute it bolts into action,
swaddling the mundane and transforming the ugly
with warm light, deep shadows.
Glory flares as the sky thunks shut behind us,
firmly but not finally.
This is the planet’s daily routine:
reliable, predictable, even boring through repetition, and yet
As ancient as Earth below us,
but ever new.