A Cotton Candy Night with a 20% Chance of Jingle Bells

I'd die without my commute.

I've been having this torid affair with Idaho highway 41 and the moon. A really sordid one. Its been going on about a year now, so I guess its finally time to publicly admit I've been two timing US 2. I love both gals, but my standby lady, The Highline with her broken divided highway and intermittent passing lanes can only keep a guy home for so long.

I can't help it-something about a seductive straight stretch, framed by moonlit, cotton candy like clouds marching all over the Selkirk foothills pulls me in every direction but straight ahead. It's over too soon when I get to the Jct of US 2 and I'm still ready for more. The show-of night and silver light beat-feeting that fleeting sky, as the heavens break open and the stars tease every ounce of will power to keep my eyes on the road, damn if doesn't do something intoxicating to my sense of the world.

Most nights I just want to keep driving.

Some night I just may.

I've heard Montana 200 gives a mean road rash but my God you're sure gonna see some amazing reflections of Noxon and Trout Creek for your trouble.

No, I'm not using X on my commutes. Or anything.

Last winter, on a cold snowy night, I encountered a herd of Elk near Blanchard. Coming to a stop on the highway, as the quiet giants surrounded the truck, and then slipped off into the night as if they were ghosts, I looked after them with a hushed gratitude. They disappeared into the Jack Pines and Ponderosas blending into fog and snow and the promise of the next season.

This fall I've seen a cougar leap far up onto the embankment and the largest racked Whitetail Buck in my near twenty years of living up here. I see all this and I thank the creator for the magic show, so unexpected and happenstance, revealed one mile marker at a time.

Me, the night and dwindling tail lights, that's my song baby. Let all that distance just try to reign in the music of motion.

I know it sounds crazy, but the darkness, the moon, and broken mountains ranges framing one shadow from another have become the foundation for at least one unexpected friendship. A fine Lady in Alberta, she and I, we share the moon, her rise, her fall, her dominance over the landscape. Arriving and departing, the stages of the lunar calendar emerge each night, serving as a post-it-note reminder and a blessing to connect our distant thoughts. The moon means think Calgary, and send my love to Dianne with prayers of good health. Mutuality is never limited by international boundaries, especially when the sky rides over both lands.

Oh and did I mention I started listening to Christmas C D 's about 3 weeks ago?

None of you that know me are surprised by this. Yet, I'm late this year-usually this addiction starts in July or something like that.

I had my priorities screwed up, I drifted into Coldplay, got in too deep and then there was Kenny Chesney, but I'm back now, still Dreaming of A White Christmas and Sleigh Bells Ringing and There's a New Kid In Town-which I sing at the top of my voice until I can't breathe any more.

I like it all-but especially the outlandish, not really ready for my parent's living room stuff. There is something compelling about a Wicca wonder like Loreena McKennitt singing about the Christ Child that makes my soul dance all over my wayward Jeep.

Mary Chapin Carpenter also has a new album out for the current holiday spend down. It's soothing and lush, no jingle bells or gimmicks, just her and the wind breathing on my soft top.

Not all is calm though in the land of holiday music. I wasn't so much into Ms. Sarah Brightman and her new effort at Christmas Opera magic. To me, she sounds an awful lot like what I believe a gal would sound like if she just so happened to be Naked at the North Pole getting her nipples pierced with a post hole digger.

I know you're thanking me for the visual, but just be glad I saved you from the audio.

Yet Trans Siberian Orchestra so made up for Ms Brightman-especially the live version of Prince of Peace (-which can be had at Wal*Mart for 7 bucks-no lie!). That song, that voice, booming out from some concert hall in New York City took me by surprise and nearly off the road and into the Pend Oreille River. Yes, it is that good.

Anyway, should you be on the road, under a wide open sky, with the clouds racing off into oblivion--well, I hope you'll celebrate the wonder of mobility, the peace of the universe, and the wisdom to know that monogamy to one set of wagon tracks, is so like 1860. Take a winter drive on me. Ride far into the night, be it via desert, mountain or beach side. Let the sky show you a thing or two about boundaries.

And about loving more than one highway.