In an easterly direction, my car hits the road, tires spinning in an endless rotation, like the earth upon which they roll. I am on Sunrise Highway, which bisects the southern part of Long Island and runs east to west or west to east, depending on which way you look at it. Ahead of me, as I exit the highway at midnight is not the sun, but the moon, enshrouded in streaks of grey clouds, but vibrant as a lightbulb in a vacant room at nighttime.
My mind catapults back seven summers, to a time much simpler than this, when, underneath this same moon, in this same spot on Sunrise Highway, I was enshrouded by my friends, novice drivers on our way to a midnight rendezvous at the California Diner. Youths ready to indulge in waffles a la mode (my favorite), pancakes, egg sandwiches, french fries with gravy--standard nighttime snacks for the 17-year old hollering under our resplendent orb of night.
I continued driving, however, around the bend, and northward bound towards home, leaving behind this moon and this distant memory for another time, when I will need the light above me to guide me into the future by using knowledge that I have gained over the years living under the sun...and the moon.
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