Commuting

My school is about a half-hour away from my home, and now that the summer's expired, I tend to drive in as the sun rises, and often drive home after dark.

What a pain, right? A long commute. Who wants a long commute?

And yet...

Last night, as the rain began to pour down after days of sunshine, the freeways clogged, and what should have been a 30 minute drive stretched into almost an hour. See this photo banner, at the top of my blog? That's the view from the Alaskan Way viaduct, where I was stuck last night for about twenty minutes.

Something about being STUCK somewhere though, with no way of getting unstuck anytime soon, is almost peaceful.

I sat in my dark car, listened to the rain fall and the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers, and took in the lights of the Seattle skyline. I put my Ipod on a slow song, and let my mind wander. I thought about some of my students, and wondered how they would fare outside of high-school, and thought about moments from class.

It was so restful.

This morning, I drove in before the sun rose, and let myself be serenaded in the dark by KEXP. John played a Devotchka song, and its violins and gentle, driving rhythm made the concrete curves a wish; made the oncoming lights a hum; made the braking cars a sigh; made my heart gentle.

Often, when driving in, I'm kissed by one of the most incredible views of Mt. Rainier you can get. She looms as I come around a bend-- sometimes austere, sometimes coy, sometimes majestic, sometimes pensive. I always pick an adjective to describe how she seems to be feeling that morning. "Lonely." "Proud." "Quiet." On those clear mornings when she's out, I'll inevitably see the dawn rip through the sky in oranges and reds and purples, and I'll WONDER again, feel awed again.

I miss my road trip sometimes.

I find it again sometimes.