Adaptive Cruise Control
On letting go.
There was hardly anybody on the road. I hate to drive, but if I have to, this is how I like it. Window rolled down to let the morning in, something on the radio.
On the downhill, the car lurches a bit as it compensates, trying to keep it at 55, no more, no less. (If only Keanu knew!) Just a quick errand to run, and then I’d be back—but I thought maybe I’d divert to the ocean first. And then, the house in Wellfleet where we used to stay. Was it still there, back in the woods?
But if it was gone, what would I lose—and if it wasn't, what was to gain? So, instead, I kept following the road I was on. Is that what it’s like to have faith in something? To decide, without seeing, what you know. The sandy hill and the little crushed shell driveway, hammock strung between two scraggly pine trees in the yard.