The Passing Place

The more I drive these single track roads, the more the humble Passing Place seems like a metaphor for life. Sometimes I have to pull over, sometimes someone driving in the opposite direction has to pull over for me. Without this give and take, no one can progress.

Sometimes we both arrive at a Passing Place at the same time and we can both glide on by. Sweet.

So far no one has scraped the side of a rental car on a stone wall hidden by foliage...