Frogs & Peace

Parked on an off-ramp just north of Lincolnton, North Carolina, where I pick up a Florida load tomorrow. The truck is off. The windows are down. I’m asking to be killed, I know. But what choice do I have? I have no air conditioning. It’s rather warm. And too much heat comes off of the truck when it’s running. The only way to stay cool is to lay naked on top of the sheets and hope for an occasional breeze (sorry about any images that may have flashed through your mind).
But with the engine off I can lay here and listen to the sounds of the highway. That takes me back to my childhood, drifting off to sleep in my grandmother’s bed in Blacksburg, South Carolina. I never dreamed that those sounds would tie me to the highway in so many ways. Much less that I would some day be one of those lonely sounds that just passes through on its way to somewhere else.
If I filter past the sounds of the highway, somewhere near here I can hear a chorus of frogs. You wouldn’t think such a sound would be comforting. But the sound of frogs, like the sound of crickets, speaks to me of peace.

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