I have a habit of composing bits or short stories in my head, but my sister has been after me to write them down. This is a
start!
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Trucker's Concerto
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Trucker's Concerto
He was pleasantly tired after a good day of driving. The truck driver was settled in his bunk, surrounded by just about
everything he owned, his hands under his head, taking in the sounds of the road outside. He enjoyed listening to the traffic. It was like music; each vehicle
with its own, individual pitch, harmonizing with others to produce an orchestral symphony of sound. Short bursts of one or another would stand out, then fade
into the overall concert. Tonight the few vehicles played solo and he imagined each instrument and the maestro behind the music.
The low, steady rumble of the percussion was a gravel truck, its many tires bearing their heavy load, driven by a weary father
eager to get home to a hot shower and catch the end of the game on the tube, while his son fell asleep in his lap. A high-pitched string section, heard as
suddenly as it was gone, was an expensive sports car, with a flashy young business man, impatient to get to his waiting friends for cocktails. Here came the
woodwinds; a practical family sedan, its driver a middle-aged woman clinging to the wheel, hands at two and ten o'clock, peering over the hood, nervous
until she was in her home, out of that vehicle. The brass section was played by a bus, the driver high on caffeine, the rows of seats filled with dozing
passengers caught in that netherworld between departure point and destination.
The pleasant bass of the motorcycle announced itself long before it arrived. The trucker relaxed a little more, savouring
the slow crescendo. He pictured the lone rider, with his legs resting easy out front of him, the evening wind on his
face, warm in the embrace of his leather jacket and a comfortable pair of faded blue jeans that rode up on his worn boots.
Smiling, the trucker's eyes closed, the bike now fading in the distance. Sleep drew its wand to a hushed finale.
Very vivid!
