|Finding yourself on the back roads, wizened, gnarled, shaped by the years...a survivor|
|Time flows past on the back roads|
Too many fancy new no-individuality Dallas-Style houses and elaborate gates going up everywhere in the rolling cross-timbered hills, but the farther you go, the narrower the roads, the more house trailers, frame homes.
The traffic and the noise disappear. You can stop on the edge of the road, get out and take a photo or two, and nary a car goes by. Only the sound of the breeze, the birds.
|"When peace like a river..."|
Good omens, you think, and keep going, finding more of yourself.
Out of coffee and area roads not yet explored, you find old US 66 ahead. First noises are the motorcycles out on this day, cruising the mother road. The transition back to city life.
Refreshed, it's a two roadrunner, back road kind of day.
|Where greening wheat, grazing cattle are the only traffic|