Virgin Tracks

Jan 4 2020

Returning home

in the early hours of morning

after the storm had finally passed

there was no traffic

on the freshly plowed road,

making virgin tracks

through the even layer

of thin granular snow.

The banks sloped-up sharply

on either side

forming perfectly symmetrical walls,

pristine white

in the stark glare of my lights.

I felt as if enclosed

in a neatly carved tunnel;

a slot-car, tethered to its track,

steering through its winding curves

climbing and descending.

Not only protected,

but like the last man left

in an immaculate world

of muffled sound

reassuring order.

The subdued light of the dash.

The heater hum, its lulling warmth.

And soft jazz, going in and out, as I headed further north,

flirting with the strength

of a distant transmitter

at the far end of its range.

So soon

just the white noise of static,

then dead air

and the crunch of tires on snow.

As if leaving civilization.

As if the car was driving itself.

Heading deep into winter,

the end of the last road north.

As I drove into town this evening and then returned later tonight, I was admiring the perfect symmetry and virgin whiteness of the freshly plowed road, illuminated in my headlights. It's a curvy 2-lane country road, and I encountered no other vehicles. The banks were high and even, the surface a thin white layer: that slightly more grippy granular snow the plow leaves behind. I had a feeling of being enclosed: like a slot car, tethered to its tightly winding track. The scene was both beautiful and peaceful, and I thought there might be a poem in it. Then promptly forgot about the idea until I sat down at the computer (one last check of email before shutting down) and decided to take a few minutes and noodle around. Another one written on the keyboard instead of by hand. If that makes a difference. I'm no longer so sure it does.

Instead of jazz, I was listening to NPR's Fresh Air. Or trying to: I'm as far north as the signal goes, just on its outer edge, so it was in and out. I'm glad I remembered this. Because that feeling of distance and marginality is what gave me the ending.