The clouds were high and thin, like scattered strips of cotton batting,
some gray, most white. The air was cool after the overnight rain and the
sun made dappled shadows on the road through the clouds and trees. It
glinted off the chrome and nestled well into the fresh primrose yellow
paint, turning the black stripe into a mirror a mile deep. It warmed the
seats almost as much as it did the soul. Dark bits of moisture clung to the
pavement, slowly retreating into the shadows away from the sun and turning
the road into a patchwork of dark and light. A few leaves, unable to cling
to their branches lay scattered about the road. Rush hour would not begin
for a while yet. The exhaust droned steady and true, resting comfortably
on the ear, occasionally echoing off some nearby structure or overpass.
All the old sights and sounds and smells were there, no longer memories
to be savored or missed while gazing at the project in the garage, but
real and immediate. Such is the karma which brings us all together in our
common love affair with metal, glass and vinyl.
The TR3 came to work with me today, after 20 months in rebuild. And all
seemed right with the world.
Rik
OTOH, My hair is now an absolutely un-combable rat's nest. Coiffure
by Cuisinart. Oh well, small price to pay, I guess.
***************************************************************
Rik Schlierer "Weekends don't count unless you
RGS03@HEALTH.STATE.NY.US spend them doing something
NYS DEPT OF HEALTH, ALBANY NY completely pointless" (Calvin)
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