Commute Canticle

A highway that stretches through rural towns in my part of the state carries me most of the distance to my job.  The cattle and fields and hay and pastures and farms and ranches and creeks and ponds and small town businesses constitute much of the scenery I see each day on my commute.  Sometimes I see stranded motorists in need of help, or on some occasions, I’ve encountered an accident scene.  

One morning, I had the opportunity to engage in a rescue mission.  I spied a hardback book on the side of the road as I sped passed.  I saw the telltale white square on the spine that told me it was a library book.  After doubling back to check it out, confirmed it was an errant library book, abandoned so close the speeding traffic.

I hopped out of the Jeep and discovered Anne Rice’s Blood Canticle, an apparent confluence of the Mayfair Witches and the vampire chronicles. It was from the public library in a nearby town.

The stamp on the card inside the book’s cover indicated it was due back to the following Monday.  I wondered what circumstances conspired to leave it on the shoulder of a highway. 

I returned it.