The whirr of the wheels on the road and
The hum of the engine of the car and
The buffeting wind from the open window as
The scenery whips past too fast to see anything but a blur as
You stare out the window in the back seat and
You try to count the cows in each field and
You try to resist asking "Are we there yet?"
Too young to worry about the price of gas, or
Too bored to be worried about other drivers, or
Too impatient to wait for your destination, and
You make up games in your head, and
You try to count the cows, and
You slowly fall asleep, lulled by the drive
The car has barely stopped, and
The door's opening, and
The road has given you its gift
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