There’s music in the wheels there to be found.
I guess everyone has their own personal calendar to inform them when the seasons change. I realized that for me, spring ended and summer began yesterday, sometime around 2:00 in the afternoon, during the drive home from the eastern shore in 87 degree, blindingly sunny weather. To confirm that it really was officially summer, a few minutes later, on Route 13 somewhere in Delaware I did an abrupt u-turn in order to hunt summer game — a perfect old wicker chair sitting serenely in front of a used furniture store. Nothing says summer like the compulsion to snare cheap porch furniture. “You took my bait,” said the store owner as I forked over the 85 bucks. Wait a minute, who, exactly, is the hunter here?
Can you deny, there’s nothing greater, nothing more, than the travelling hands of time?
Marking time on the road is pretty routine for me. After all, I knew it was really spring a couple of months ago when all of a sudden, all six CDs in my car stereo were Son Volt and Uncle Tupelo. For some reason, nothing says spring to me like a healthy dose of Jay Farrar’s weary, resigned optimism. I head for the atmosphere, and there’s no reason to feel downhearted.
Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel, let the wind take your troubles away.
For someone who is not at all car-oriented and is pretty much horrified by our car culture, it’s a little disconcerting that I link so much wonderful stuff to time spent in the car. But no matter. I will now get in the car again, off to buy some spray paint for the wicker chair. First I need to change out the CDs to summer music. That means a lot of the music of my youth, and anything that’s rock & roll’s fine.
The View from the Porch 