Darkness surrounds our car, save for the illuminated path that lies ahead. Occasional snowflakes with fly on by, no storm tonight, and by all means we are fine with it.
Two crosses.
The moon peaks out from the clouds, though only for a moment. The light allows us to observe our surroundings, with careful attention to the road of course. Ignoring the lights of the dashboard, we see the canyon that engulfs us, surrounds us, towers above us. Coverage of trees is spotty, and one can notice pillars of rock that stick out like it's nobody else's business. And it is.
One cross.
A river winds lazily between boulders and through breaks, slowly making it's eventual way towards the ocean. The moonlight, though fading, glistens on the water as darkness surrounds it. As with the river, so does the road twist and wind it's way, higher and higher towards it's destination. Where it ends, is only for us to find out. More bright lights pass us, which we see only by the light of our own.
Four crosses.
The moon begins to disappear, and with it takes light from the canyon. Our car headlights serve as our guide, and as a reminder, as the white lights are illuminated against the darkness. Unlike their guiding cousin, these lights pass us by on their own timeline, designated by their history.
Two crosses.
By now we count over 30 of them, a stark reminder. Matisyahu calls us from the stereo, reminding us of the graces of god, and the promised land that awaits. Only by shuffle it playing through the speakers. How would fate have it, or was it by chance? Nevertheless, we let it play, as we continue to count.
Five crosses.
"My god," are the only words to come from my copilot, as we drive through the road in disbelief. Such a history to befall this place. By combination of human error and natural disasters has this been done. Some say the place is cursed, others blame drugs and alcohol, and some just say that its just another part of Montana to live with. What ever it is, this place should never have to bear such weight.
Two crosses.
We make the turn, and soon we know that our destination lies straight ahead of us. We cannot see it, but we know it is there. Bob Marley speaks to us, telling us about the virtues of life. We heed his advice, nodding our heads to the beat. We hope that the lights are done, that we may forget about them, but we are wrong.
More lights pass us by. Such a loss of life, how can this be? No words are spoken, but we both think the same thing. The road climbs higher and higher, snow levels increase, snowflakes fall, and soon cover the roadway. Headlights can only help us so much, as white envelops us. Hail the rumble-strip. It keeps our car on track, and us safe. I only wish I could say the same for those who perished here, at each light we pass. Such sadness lives here, we feel it as we sit silently in our car.
A moment to myself, and I say a prayer. I know we are close tour destination, and I say a prayer of thanks, for keeping us safe, and for what is left ahead of us to drive. Such a place of sorrow this is, and I pray for those that died, and for anyone else that may pass through here.
Snowflakes fall steady now, darkness surrounds us, and the continue to pass by, as our car climbs higher into the night.
One cross.
Pray for Snow!
The S-Jenk
