As I was driving the highway, again. Heading for another respite from the chosen weight of my world, heading through the portal towards heaven. As I am driving I see them. Slowly at first as if to reveal themselves all at once would be too much, there they are the guardians of the highway. Sentinels to this long worn out route. I can remember the first time they let me see them, I was taken with a golden glow, standing out from the dull scenery passing by my window. One and then two…..now I see them at regular intervals staring, watching, maybe waiting. The eyes are the first thing I try to view. Small obsidian points in the golden head. The bodies are cloaked with their feather velvet that shifts in the wind, shimmers as if adjusting to this dimension. It is a special thing to be able to notice nature this way, at least I feel special. The highway slowly comes to an end, my turn off is coming soon a signal of the end in to the bridge. My chest felt heavy as the journey is almost done, my arrival anticipated by friends, family. Disappointment begins to set in as I realize this is the only view I will ever have from this box I have placed myself in. Acceptance, sorta, saddness, definitely, hope, no not really. Hope is a dangerous thing when life refuses to change. When you’ve done all one can do to change, grow, leave with an invisible hand holding you in place, like a vice.
Like a vice, like karma.