The sun was in my eyes, and I was holding the steering wheel too tight because the car kept getting buffeted by the winds of trucks passing at an astonishingly illegal speed.
At least I’m not heading east, I kept reminding myself, stuck behind one big rig trying to pass another on a steep mountain incline.
On the flat lands of West Tennessee, even eighteen-wheelers can pass going 90 miles an hour.
It was a relief when the car’s map directed me toward a four-lane that would take me south.
Now the winds weren’t coming from passing trucks but from the world itself, blowing across unfurling fields.
Persons:
Cotton
Locations:
Nashville, West Tennessee