I hate driving to work. It’s a 40 minute commute, on a good day, but it makes me so very sleepy. There is one part of it that I do like, and I try to picture that part most, whenever I visualise the morning ahead. Once I leave my little town and get out onto the long stretch of road leading to the city, I am surrounded by fields. On early mornings, after a night of rain, the sky is opalescent, shades of blue swirled around iridescent pink clouds. A fine mist usually hangs over the city and as I drive through the wide plains I appreciate the coolness I feel on my eyes, the pale sun hanging dimly on the horizon. I think this is when I feel most awake, when all of my senses are switched on and I’m able to seep into the beauty and stillness of the world.
Once I reach the city it all changes suddenly. The road is wet still from the rain of the night before. The sun is suddenly bright, golden, blinding. It’s like entering Aladdin’s cave, only on the other side there’s just 8 long hours of work. One time the mist still hung in the air and as I reached the bend, this huge, sort of majestic horse came trotting across the road! I honestly thought that was it, that I had finally cracked and was hallucinating! That, or still dreaming. It’s sometimes such a thin line that it’s not always easy to tell. When these golden drives become a struggle, I travel in my little mind back to the cold, restful pearl. The contrast is so calming and the image of the clouds cools my burning mind.
You feel so much of sleepiness in your eyes. Curious beings, we spend much of our lives looking, lying still and looking and looking. For me it becomes a sort of hobby and I fall in love constantly with the changing landscape. I’m so grateful that I can drive and can independently observe the sky. So on my burning, golden days at work, when your tired little brain aches and your eyes sting from the fire of the world, remember the cooler, iridescent days and know that like the morning sky over the plains, it will pass so very quickly.
Waking minutes: 745