I thoroughly enjoyed working at the radio station; it was perhaps one of my favorite jobs. Although I was re wording my show for later broadcasts, for me, the microphone was almost an actual person. Oh, sure, most of the spots were just introducing songs, reading sponsorships, or giving weather reports, but a couple times per hour, I could share my heart and my faith in Christ.
Then, there were the 20+ mile commutes back home in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes, they were terrifying — when the snow was piled high, the lane markets invisible and wildly whipping winds obscuring the patches of ice beneath my tires. Sometimes, they were just routine. But, oh, sometimes…sometimes… Those were the nights I still miss and this was one such night…
August 2016
What a glorious night, or rather early morning, to be out! On the road, the sky stretches from horizon to horizon, illuminated by a brilliant full moon that shames the stars into hiding. Patchy fog hangs in shallow, ragged veils just inches above the dark mystery of the green corn. The light of the moon turns the earth-bound clouds into filmy, white puffs of cotton candy that swirl across the landscape.
Highway 10 is bordered on both sides by numerous ponds that have disguised the gravel borrow pits that were dug when the new road was constructed. Their waters shimmer in the lunar glow, still, dark, and serene. The mists crowd their edges but do not cross over and lend apparent substance to the moonpaths reflected in their inky mirrors. They remind me of the meres of Middle Earth, or the pools of the Gateway between Worlds. On such a night, who knows what might emerge from their depths to mount the shimmering trail across the fields.
With windows open, the mild night air imparts a chill through the moisture it carries. Occasionally a wisp of fog dances across the highway ethereal and translucent. But in other places, it thickens, congeals, caught in the driver’s headlights and obscuring one’s vision. On such a night, who knows where one might be when she emerges from the mist…just a little further down the road…or perhaps Middle Earth or Elsinore or Narnia. Ah…the prosaic rules this night…and the road continues on, as do the fleeting nighttime hours. Home and a bed are calling and eventually the road, that as Tolkien says, “goes ever, ever on,” turns into a homely driveway and to a broad night sky tamed by the border of rooftops.
Kathy Kexel 