Day deepens; its far-off foothills soft-kissed
And swathed in scarves of periwinkle mist
Blue banter of breeze eases through highs and lows
Settling where the sky-line is a red rose
The sight of day passing slows our feet
As we watch its remnant river deplete
Then glad, we turn toward toil’s tender quest
and slumber’s merited rest
© Janet Martin
There's a different tone to Friday night rush-hour traffic...
a sigh of relief mingled with anticipation, maybe?
…unless you are a transport truck driver, always coming home to leave.
It’s hard to explain Jim’s love/hate relationship with the road…
As soon as his truck turns homeward it’s like a horse in full gallop; can’t get home fast enough.
As soon as he is home he is checking the schedules to see where to next.