i miss driving.
i miss coming over the hill to see a universe of lights reflected in the bay, the sky so clear and cold, so much like flying that i laugh out loud. i miss nosing through a wall of fog, following the disembodied red glow of the car in front of me, praying to every god i know that those hazy dots aren't leading me off a cliff and into the ocean. i miss doing my hair by running straight from the shower to eighty miles an hour on the freeway, all the windows down and the sunroof open, dave matthew's "watchtower" as loud as my poor VW speakers can go. i miss highway 68 S-curves at night, trees like fingerpaint in my rearview mirror.

i miss the freedom, the feeling that the world is a tank of gas and a gear shift away, the intricate weaving in and out of traffic, hitting the gas to make yellow lights, backseats, slow drives along the beach with the windows down and the heat up, aimless wanderings that always end up at the coffeeshop.

i love the rhythm of walking, the sense of musclemovement and weight against the earth, but it's no substitue when you want eighty miles an hour.