All is quiet on the car
ride home along back roads.
Outside the air is relaxed: 68 degrees,
damp.

Small pearls of water
slide down the windows.

I stare through the
glass, follow black windshield wipers,
listen for the splash of puddles and
passing cars.

There is no music,
no conversation.
I don’t notice.

There is no heavy air of awkwardness,
when it feels like time is stagnant.
No need to turn on the
radio or our voices.

We are comfortable allowing ourselves
to be lost in the silence, in the mood, to listen only to
passing cars and rain.

I notice amidst
the breeze, and solitude,
that her breathing has become rhythmic, her
sapphire eyes have fallen, and she sleeps
as the lost pearls paint
the glass near her face.