“I’m wanted at the traffic-jam.
They’re saving me a seat.”
― Leonard Cohen
I don’t drive,
therefore when I get stuck in a traffic jam,
I’m always a passenger along for the ride,
whatever that ride has to offer.
If it offers being stuck,
I could get out at any moment and walk away.
That’s not always a practical option,
but it’s an option,
even on the freeway.
I am not as powerless as the driver,
nor am I as powerful as the driver,
who directs the course of the vehicle.
But what about the human vehicle?
“The roar of the traffic, the passage of undifferentiated
faces, this way and that way, drugs me into dreams; rubs the
features from faces. People might walk through me. And what is
this moment of time, this particular day in which I have found
myself caught? The growl of traffic might be any uproar – forest trees or
the roar of wild beasts.”
― Virginia Woolf
I don’t drive,
because I was born and bred,
lived most of my life,
in hustling, bustling cities,
where the best vehicle to drive is the human body.
On the pavement I was a speedster,
weaving, swerving amongst human traffic,
screeching to a halt, revving my engine,
at a lost tourist,
who thought lumbering wandering,
was a pace to take on a busy street.
Things have changed since I moved to the countryside,
I’m just an old rust bucket now,
that goes out only on special occasions,
such as to the local fair.
“I took the other road, all right, but only because it was the easy road for me, the way I wanted to go. If I’ve encountered some unnecessary resistance that’s because most of the traffic is going the other way.”
― Edward Abbey
*for the photography prompt
– A Picture you took in Class/At Work/Out and About –