.
“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,
occasionally honking,
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 –
Great shot
http://wp.me/60y6a
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