Can it still be called a journey?
when driven frenetically, but steering in hand
on the linear roads of no milestones
mostly superseding your pidgey sense of direction with
neatly folded maps and a shiny brass compass
you stick your head out and wonder
why vistas are wallpapers of pale colour daubs!
why wind doesn't gush the cheer!
more acceleration, more enervation!
suddenly you look at the gear stick and wonder
what if I simply put it in reverse gear!
you paste your eyes back on the road
and suddenly, you feel a warm soft hand over yours over the gear stick
looking into the direction and you find the kindest smiling eyes
looking right through you
after a while eyelashes bat for the first time for a moment too long and you feel a gentle squeeze on the hand
in trance, you simple shove the stick in the reverse
and gear box springs open with silent violence
and twirling the vehicle before bringing it to a complete halt
you fling open the gate
and feel the winds and sun enveloping with a crimson embrace sauntering around, inhaling the golden earthiness
you look back into the direction of co-passenger seat
and smile back to an exquisite orchid, in sunflower fields