The splutter, splutter, cough, cough of the road trip of the year.

There are nights…….

Swinging out onto the road, the night, like the lane ahead, clear…..

The window open

And the soft touch of a summer’s eve flows in…

When the tank is full of petrol..

And the pull of the motor kicks in..

The wheels spin..

And you could go anywhere.

There are mornings..

Before the day really begins..

And there is no other noise, except the call of a crow....

When the sky, like the road ahead, is clear..

And the soft chill of a late summer’s morn excites.

You could....