Thousands of reasons community of commuting a single purpose
Roadway is filled with cars and trucks.
Everybody is heading in the same general direction.
Roads and paths that converge into one.
The road into or around Atlanta.
Same purpose.
The road more traveled.
The path taken.
It is the reasons that are less traveled.
The reason not taken.
That makes all the difference.
The Road Not Taken BY ROBERT FROST
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
pink tipped spires glow short time, daybreak Atlanta old poetic theme
Each day, I exit I85 to the Buford-Spring Connector in midtown Atlanta.
The expressway ramp takes me up as high as a three story building before a quick decent to Peachtree Creek level.
From this rise, for a brief moment, I have a post card view of downtown Atlanta.
On some mornings, this moment takes place at sunrise or just before sunrise, when the earliest light catches the tops of the downtown buildings and the cityscape glows pinkishly.
The pink light of dawn at the beach, on a city, over the desert or on the far mountain range is a reoccurring theme in literature and poetry.
Dawn takes place every day.
No travel need to experience it.
It can happen on the drive to work.
‘Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, William Wordsworth September 3, 1802
Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning: silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
No Haiku For You 