There's a road in Texas in between Amarillo and Albuquerque just before you hit the New Mexico border. Its not especially pretty, its not spectacularly stunning and its arrow straight as the roads over there tend to be.
It was getting to dusk when I was driving through it and the windmills that were the only presence at the side of the empty road were black sentinels standing out against the pink setting sun.
When I'm especially stressed or feel I've got too much coming at me, I switch off and pretend I'm driving that road again. The empty blacktop stretching off ahead and the sound of the tyres on the tarmac a mantra beneath me.
One day, before I'm forty, I'm going to drive that road again.
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