There was nothing like the dark trees while the noisy roads listened, while the streetlights outside paid no attention to the people rolling beneath them. The bye-bye lights of carnivals passed the window; and then there was the power plant, which sang energy and light into the dark, acting as an oasis of illumination in a black desert. From the window everything seemed magnificent. Riding a train at night was like smoking an unlit cigarette. There seemed to be no progression, just anticipation; then a little light and you were almost there. When the sun came, it worked the earth like a principal overlooking a playground –watchful and engaging, keeping time and energy. The road/track kept the car/bus/train as they piloted their way to destinations beneath the exhausted sun. Brown and green grass ran rapid there, and corn built its way up to the sky. On the road, the future was right there. Experience was happening all the time, without matter-of-fact action. One could stare at the bashful skies, irreverent grass and the gray paved roads, and know that lanterns and lights, all by the roadside –the thousands of them, were there to help one keep living.