Normally I would have missed it. My eyes would have been fixed on the road while I zoned out to sports radio. Or I’d be watching the rear view mirror trying to figure out why Lincoln’s tongue is aimed towards his sister. It’s always something, and that something is occasionally heard but seldom seen from the driver’s seat.
I’m usually asleep at 5:45 am. But I’d just finished dropping Kim off at the airport. The kids were asleep before we made it out the rat maze they call the parking terminal. The radio was off. All I could hear was Kai breathing as he sat flopped over in his carseat behind me.
With Kim in Utah for a few days it would be the only twenty minutes of peace and quiet I’d have over the next fifteen hours.
But the next fifteen minutes were mine as I made my way down State Route 167 towards our Auburn exit. Snow-capped Mount Rainer dominated the background. The sun inched over the horizon giving the valley hope that winter is on its way out of the Puget Sound.
Other than a few freight trucks I had the road to myself. I didn’t bother moving left into the carpool lane. I told myself I can drive 70 without attracting the attention of the highway patrol. What cop wants to pull over a white minivan?
Large fields run parallel to the highway. They’ve always been there. I’ve been driving this same route almost everyday for the past four years, and yet I’ve never paid much attention to the landscape.
But what caught my attention this morning was how the fog suspended itself over the fields. From the corner of my eye it looked as though someone had created a huge down-filled pillow that gently swayed over the fields in the early morning breeze.
I lifted my foot off the accelerator. The van slowed. I considered waking the kids. I wish Kim had been sitting next to me. She would have understood.
As I grow older I appreciate when nature speaks to my soul. Such experiences compel me to evaluate where I stand with my family and friends. And with God.
Nature has a way of inviting us to reflect on our lives when that’s the furthest idea from our minds. This was one of those moments. It lasted but a few minutes.
I believe it was nature’s way of saying we’ll survive mom’s five day absence.
But I’ll keep the Benadryl handy just in case.