them not-so-dry bones

So much of my life has been taken up with driving lately, and I've found myself wondering quite a bit about all these hundreds and thousands of people I see all the time. Where is he going? Where did he come from? Why? Will he be happy to get there? Will someone be there to greet him? Is he running away from something? Running toward something? What kind of music will take him there? Or is he a talk-radio kind of fella?

I tend not to get around to fully embodied thoughts about these random and plentiful drive-by strangers. I don't really want to know a lot about their lives. I don't have enough room in my head or my car for their joys and sorrows, their goods and bads. Sometimes I barely have enough room for my own. Especially now that someone else's seem so much more important than mine ever did. What a funny transition that is. Not so much funny ha-ha, but more funny ironic and scary and wonderful.

The one thought I do tend to fully realize is that I hope my interstate friends don't spend too much time getting from point A to point B. I hope they get a chance - and take the time - to enjoy either A or B. Preferably both.

Here we are, daily miracles of breath and blood and work and sleep and goodness and frailty. What magnificently intricately ordinary creatures we are. Beautiful.