This is a strange place in which I find myself. Armed with an air card, I can reach out, and yet as would have been the case 2500 years ago, I am stuck. There is black ice on the roads and far ahead, in some unseen place on a dark road where there is, quite literally, nothing of consequence greater than a tree on either side.
2500 years ago, perhaps a similar condition (it is well below freezing temperature outside) might lead a traveler with hands shaking from the cold to write a few well intentioned last words. I consider that less likely in my situation, but I am no better informed nor am I overly comforted by knowing that the words I can type (as I am quite litterally sitting still) will be read.
Perhaps it is, by being less scary (but not completely un-scary) nothing but a farce, an amusement park rendition of being trapped, as by a frozen river. But it is dark, it is night and I am not moving and the temperature will continue to drop. Oddly, while I have very little else to commend myself, I do have a case of wine with me, something from which I can draw no comfort if I decide to drive on.
What lies ahead of me and whether or not I will see it in the hours to come or in the light of the morning remains to be seen. Like the traveler of 2500 years ago, my situation lies in someone else hands and the future both intriguing and uncertain, the specter of what lies ahead of me unclear, supported to some extent by my ignorance (which is fairly significant) and by the hope that if I wait long enough, the road ahead will open for me like the arms of a lover.
Stay tuned.
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