Early morning on the parkway . . . and long shafts of light filter through the fog-bound trees.
I stopped and waited for a Voice to speak . . . or for music to fill the still air with great, striding chords.
A curtain of light before me . . .
Almost daunting to drive into it . . . is this what the Rapture looks like?
Safely through . . . I'm in no danger of being raptured away.
But then, in a somewhat surreal moment, there they were again, this time coming from my left.
Such, I reminded myself, are the twists and turns of the Parkway. Still, there should have been music.
