In response to

I am the deer caught off guard by my own complacent headlights, forgetting momentum and staring at this eight percent upgrade. Forgive me if I burp the brakes backpedal and drop two, three, four gears. This road is not on any map. It is something to negotiate my bulky conveyance through these too tight corners with my limited sight distance and reminders flashing like brake-lights in the mirrors. Puritans scowl as I pass their tidy little boxes, the fingering trees flicking my antennae. It has been too long away from this discomfort ,my mind cramps wondering if this is just a slow road to another slow road and my eyes fix on a (bug) crashing onto my bonnet as the temp- orary hood ornament quickly rights itself and flies away as I snatch the wheel back from the edge , over correct, correct , splitting hairs, gears, my hands blistering from the constant friction. I know that eventually the trees will open to a straighter road in an open meadow and a small toll bridge waiting. My eyes will scale the next hill, I'll sigh, and remember to keep my foot in it.