south of watertown

Im riding this wet, lonely road just south of Watertown, the kind of place where the asphalt feels like its holding its breath. The skys a bruised gray, heavy with the promise of rain or maybe just the weight of all the miles behind me. Theres no music, no chatter, just the low hum of tires and the wind whispering secrets through the dying grass. I can feel the chill seep into my bones, but its not the cold thats getting to me its the quiet. The kind that makes you wonder if youre moving forward or just spinning in place. And then, just beyond the next bend, the fields start to soften, the trees grow a little taller, the earth seems to sigh and stretch out. Its not pretty yet still too raw, too gray but its starting to get prettier. Like the world is holding its breath, waiting for me to notice, waiting for me to stop, to really look. And maybe, just maybe, thats the point.

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