A Very Long Drive

I was on a drive much longer than I expected. The Chipmunk’s Christmas Song—the one where Dave screams Alvin’s name—was on the radio. Farm trucks and sedans had packed snow on snow on snow for days.

I was on highway 166 and there was a length of fence that was missing its barbed wire. Maybe it had been cleaved somewhere down the line by a rare fallen tree. I hadn’t seen another car for hours, so I drove slowly down the middle of the road. The snow came down in huge relentless flakes.

Up ahead there were some dark forms materializing, contrasting with the white. As I drove I had the sense of slowly rolling a microscope knob in my fingers. At first they were shadows of shadows, then they were blurry.

Suddenly it was clear. Lumbering along this cold quiet highway, along with my Honda and the snow, was a small herd of cattle. They were moving slowly, driven on by some invisible lazy cowboy. I turned down the Chipmunks as I rolled up to the herd. The cattle parted politely, giving sideways cow glances, just showing a flicker of the white that rimmed their glossy black eyes.

We all moved together for a few moments, then I oozed up to the front of the pack and continued toward my home.