Idling in Skyland

Sometimes you hardly notice the car in front of you. At other instants, you might notice that the driver's foot's on the brake pedal making his tail lights smolder red, or that the Honda or Ford is sliding ever so slowly backwards toward the front end of your car (or so you think; or is it an illusion, and it's actually you that's slipping — there's that sensation too). You adjust your position accordingly.

Then there are those minutes when, idling, you might glance to your right just as the driver in the car to your right looks to his or her left and there you are staring at one another, momentary awkwardness of a temporary neighbor in the morning, face of someone you have never seen before — and may just never see again. Do you smile at them?

I almost always notice the license plates — certainly the personalized ones. And I see the bumper stickers which are a numerous and revealing. Who will you be voting for next election? Who won't you? Where do your kids go to school? Do you support adoption/abortion/spay/neuter/organic/religious/infinite?

Here's a picture of a license plate I spied in my grocery store parking lot. No idling for this dark night horse; it's owner inside the store shopping for dinner or lunch. Just this turquoise placard illuminated in the chill.

This is where I live. The sky is blue. The sky is pink. The sky is orange, and the clouds are soul sisters to my singing along. The sky gives me permission for all of the above.

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As Mourning Doves Persist

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