She was driving, and the vehicle was familiar–a longtime companion, slightly in need of some bodywork. But reliable. Through very bad weather and roads that weren’t roads once she viewed them through her rearview mirror (they’d become muddy troughs when her vehicle’s rubber tires ate through them), through coughing engine problems and aeration pumps that failed, the car had somehow delivered her around the bend in the road.
It’s pretty here, she thought, one hand in her lap. One hand on the wheel.
A fledgling smile played with her mouth, and if there were a passenger with her, that rider would have heard the sound of humming.
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mary june brown 