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Backroads

Flannel with Faith

It was Wednesday and I took a Sunday drive. The sun was sending its warmth through the windows. The wishful windshield seemed large enough to handle my daydreams; it was clear and clean. It wasn’t warm enough or my hand would’ve been hanging out the window. There was a corner where I pulled over and turned down my tunes. I just stared at the livestock and focused on the small rolling hills. Part of me knew where this road led; most of me didn’t care. It’s in the backroads, just like the woods, where I feel most at home. It’s a different feeling than standing atop a mountain, gazing at the Egyptian pyramids, or best, holding a newborn baby. But in this crazy topsy-turvy strangeness of the world around me, it felt like the joy of family and laughter, the hugs of those I love and miss, the best cup…

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