Wednesday, May 18, 2005
N Drive North
When my co-workers ask how I go home, I'll say, "I take N Drive North." Their response is always the same. "N Drive North?? Where's that?" I'll say, "You know, the road off of Emmett that goes up to I-69." And they will say, "Ohhh, you mean Turkeyville Rd!" It's a mystery to me. What happened to Turkeyville Rd? If N Drive North is Turkeyville Rd, why don't any of the street signs say so? If you look up Turkeyville Rd in Pennfield, Michigan on Mapquest, you'll get an error message. There is no Turkeyville Rd.
Even though I don't understand the whole Turkeyville Rd/N Drive North puzzle, I do enjoy taking that road every day. It's one of those roads where the trees are so close to the road that their branches reach over and touch across the road. On sunny days, the sun shines through the leaves and drops on the road like polka dots. Each season brings its own beauty to Turkeyville Rd. In the fall, the trees are brilliant with color, their fallen leaves pushed to the sides and middle of the road, creating literally a path. In the winter with snow plowed up against the trunks of the tree and ice clinging to the branches, it looks like a Christmas greeting card. But now, in my opinion, is the season that N Drive North is the most beautiful. It is late spring when the leaves are completely green, and the grass is fresh and vibrant. It was while driving in this morning, that I remembered why I didn't move to California last fall.
I think we should stop calling this spring and start calling it the season of forgiving & forgetting. In driving down Turkeyville Rd this morning, I forgave Michigan for the extremely long winter that we all suffered through. And I forgot that another such winter is on its way. All I could think about was how beautiful it is. How green and lush, and how... Magnificent, really. There's really no good words for it. So, we'll borrow some words. Here are some of Shakespeare's that may sum it up.
"How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it." -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.