Life on the mt.
We've been down the hill for the day and are headed for home. As I approach this giant mountain range and if I notice clouds on or near the top of the mt, my stomach does a flip flop and I pray the fog isn't very thick and is just on the very top of our socal ole smokey. One of the unsung 'joys' of living in the beautiful mountains, is fog. Thick, white, swirling fog, playing hide and seek with me, the driver. Fog, hiding the middle yellow line from me, and also, the white line along the edge of the road. I anxiously seek turnout signs when I have a truck behind me with monster lights that the driver keeps flashing at me – hurry up, drive faster or PULL OVER, it says. So I pull over as soon as I see a turnout sign, praying that the fog will thin a little so I can see the turnout perimeter. I just want to make sure I have room for the car and won't end up in a precipitous situation on the edge of some cliff.
Nothing is familiar in this thick fog. Altho I have been driving this mountain almost every week and sometimes more often,for over 20 years, in the fog all landmarks are gone, disappeared in the always moving thick, white stuff.
I pull over safely, I hope, and let the truck go lumbering by, the driver speeding into the fog unable to see the road more than 5 feet in front of his vehicle. If that much.
I don't know why some people insist on living on the edge, so to speak. It probably makes life a little more exciting, but I can do with less excitement and maybe a longer more sedate life.
But life is so precious to me I can't do anything thats possibly self destructive for just a momentary thrill. Every God given beautiful day spent on this planet is a joy and enough of a thrill for me.
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