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Highway 40

Every Wednesday I take a trip to Boonville.  I take  I-70 there, I take Highway 40 back home.  I like the trip back home better.

The interstate is convenient and quicker which is good really because I’m usually running behind.  But there’s a sameness to it.  It feels hurried.

I look forward to the trip home.  I’ve come to see Highway 40 as life.  The pavement’s unfinished, a little rougher and there’s a bump or two along the way.  There are hills and valleys, but nothing to keep you from getting home.

There’s beauty along the way if you pay attention.  The corn is green and tall in the summer, but the stalks are brown now.  The fields look like a big promotional display for fall and harvest time.

Then you hit the stretch where the trees come to line the highway.  They go from full of snow, to full of green leaves, to full of brown or colored leaves.  And then empty, but still beautiful.  And the road keeps winding through them, with a unique look after each curve.

It’s getting darker sooner, and in a few weeks it’ll be too dark to see any of it, and I’ll probably even go back to the interstate for the winter months.

And to paraphrase The Zac Brown Band, I’ll miss my Highway 40 ride, but I won’t dwell on it.  It’s like a pretty sunset in the rear-view mirror, best not to get to focused on what’s behind you.


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