On those long drives south, you will pass fields of wind turbines.
They will stand so stoically, you will briefly ponder how they got there,
and how they can be so perfect.
You will realize they were put there for that very purpose.
You will pass billboards for businesses
that feel like home to somebody,
but to you are only brief glimpses to be immediately forgotten.
You will pass oddities.
A beaten down store that sells only bottled water, advertised proudly on sun-faded signs.
A barn on the side of the road with “REPENT” painted in large letters across the roof,
surrounded only by emptiness for miles in all directions.
Large animal statues that at one point,
were built for a reason.
Mostly, however, you will pass normality, in all of its bustling stillness.
Wherever you are at 5:37 p.m., the sky will look beautiful.
And it will look beautiful until nighttime falls, masking the vast web of highways
in a blanket of familiarity,
because darkness looks the same from one side of the world to the other.
You will spend hours counting down the miles until you are home,
and once you are home,
you will wish that you were anywhere else.
Home is lonely. You will be reminded of this.
Reality will fall like dust across your suitcase,
now only a chore to be unpacked.
And when it begins raining in your backyard,
you will wonder how the weather is