One More Drive



Every spring, I drive up this gravel road—slowly, so the neighbors don’t see a dust cloud. 


But there’s another reason I don’t hurry.


This road carries twenty-five years of memories. Each spring it begins, and each autumn it ends, with a weekly crate of organic vegetables waiting for me.


Along this gravel road, my teenage daughter once rode beside me on her way to cello lessons.


I remember times when my young boy’s baseball game would be that evening.


And there were other times, when I was sorting out the knots of life as I slowly drove—often whispering prayers into the solitude.


The weekly trip up the road reminds me of how time moves, seasons change, and how much I’ve changed too.

I should be used to change by now—even as I hesitate to let go of another season.

So I hold on, grateful for just one more slow drive up the gravel road. 

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