I love my drive to school in the morning. And since school is my work, I'm killing two prompts with one pen here, or however that works in literary terms.
There are two ways for me to get to school. I call one the low road, and one the high road. The low road is officially about thirteen seconds shorter than the high road, and on days where that thirteen seconds matters (there are those days, trust me), I take the low road. It's boring. They're building a new bridge on it, and there are lots of big trucks doing irresponsible things and tearing the road up, so it's gotten a bit more exciting recently, but I still hate it.
The high road though, man. It's better. It's way better. You see, on the high road, I get to cross Fort Gibson Dam.
Some of you may not know what that is, and that's okay. It's just a big concrete wall keeping water out of one side, and keeping it in on the other. There are gates that let the water out...you know what a dam is.
Here's why I love it though.
To me, it's the perfect meshing together of man's work and God's creation. The power of water and the strength of steel and concrete. The antiseptic and practical look of retention, and the beauty of tree-laden "mountains" surrounding it.
Right now, the leaves are turning. So when I drive on to the dam, I'm given a panoramic view of a cacophony of color, birds of prey (dead or living), and the thrill of driving across something that, if it broke, thousands would be crushed under the weight of the water.
I took a video the other day to blog about in a different context, but I think it works here. It's of the best part of my drive — the part where I drive from darkness into light.
No, it's not that dramatic. But I love it. About halfway across the dam, you drive out of the shadow of a mountain, and the world lights up around you. I squint—I always squint—and smile as I feel the sudden rush of warm light on my face. Little things happen. The interior equipment in my truck, the radio, the gauges, light up a little brighter automatically. Stark contrasts are formed.
It's beautiful. But, I'll let you determine that for yourself.
Love you guys.