Rain and Road

purple... rain?

It started raining whilst he was still on the motorway and very quickly the homeward bound traffic came to a standstill.

The rain turned out to be a disappointment, merely confirming that the drought was going to continue; the barren ground and the dried bleached grass didn’t even notice.

Only the windscreen wipers on the cars complained.

He turned the CD player a little louder and stared and the distant mountains; home lay on the other side of them but he would not be there before dark now.

He ate a bar of chocolate, and that too was a disappointment – merely confirming his poor decision; he wished he had dawdled longer in the city and bought a burger from the Back Packer Café.

The car in front of him was from out of state, an illuminated GPS confirming that the driver, if not lost was unclear.

Someone in the car alongside, inching forward faster than he was, turned and waved; the recognition was only one way.

Time had stopped.

He took his phone, rang home. No one answered. He rang his son, he didn’t answer. He sent a text to his daughter, she replied.

Then he felt alone.

The thread by which everything held together was an illusion.

One that he maintained.

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