Every week day morning I drop my daughter off at the end our road. This is where we wait for the school bus. Our road is a private mile-long stretch of gravel off the main road. Where the road ends is where I wait.
This spot has become a kind of reflecting place. The time I spend here in repose may be the calmest moments of my day. I see this particular spot in all kinds of weather, in breaking dawn and near dusk depending on the time of year. I see where the road ends swathed in fog, laden with snow and illuminated by the sun in an amazing Western blue sky. I see the same road continue on ahead of me, laid out in perfect perspective. I watch the field grasses sway to the wind's tune.
A single pine tree stands like a sentinel where the road ends. It's top has died out and a bony finger points skyward. Hawks, crows, owls and smaller birds vie for the finger, a commanding view to be sure.
So it is here that my day begins. On that last stretch of gravel where the road ends.