A golden moon and the two headlights from my truck my only guiding lights, a Seger song humming from the radio, a tin of chewing tobacco my only companion in the passenger seat, a country road winding through the Michigan woods or alongside some creek bed or past some small town farms - cows asleep in the barns, and preferably some low-hanging fog: that's a portrait of my ideal Sunday evening late night drive.
On the lonely country roads, it's easy to feel like you can drive past the petty stresses of daily life or whatever is troubling your soul at that particular point of your life. And the calm of the lazy Sunday night provides the perfect atmosphere from some in-depth thought, introspection about your past or about your future or just about whatever girl has hold of your imagination at the time.
Sometimes I'll drive past those places that occupy a special spot in my past. Through Ann Arbor, gazing at the collegiate streets sprinkled with students and the crows perched above on telephone wires. Past the old college house, wondering where the years have went. Or past some of your watering holes, wondering about whatever sadness has brought those souls to the bar on a Sunday evening. Or past the parks where you had Little League games some years ago, imagining simpler times.
But sometimes it's best to think about nothing at all. To just breathe the night air and let your mind rest for a half an hour or an hour. To let the worry of the preceding week and another fast-approaching week dissolve into the night sky, let the tobacco buzz sink in, and simply feel alive in the present night.
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