I couldn’t sleep tonight and drove most of the way out to God’s country to get my head out of the house. The rain harshly pattered on my windshield like sparkling balls of light in my high beams. I rounded the curve at one point to find a lone possum crossing the road in this driving rain. I slow down and let him pass. His eyes reflect my headlight beams casting a ghostly visage.
I arrive in God’s country to the little country road that leads to our pond. The rain has almost stopped. I get out and run in the rain to open the gate. The combination lock is the last four digits of my parent’s phone number. The heavy smell of wet pine is on the air.
When I was a child, this was always one of my favorite places to go. Memaw would pack me a lunch and I would set off to go fishing. Lazy summer days exploring the pond’s edge and the surrounding woods would find me. I would carefully watch that little cork in the water for signs of life as it bobbed and signaled a fish was on the line.
This morning, the pond looked so dark and foreboding; nothing like the memories of my youth. Of course, I picked a terrible time to ride over there. It was mainly for the drive and to just get out of the house. I finally got back in my car, locked the gate, and drove home. I was satisfied with this morning ride to God’s country.