Most places, motoring means joining the rat race.
In Carolina, motoring takes you where your heart desires.
Your car is your escape capsule.
You can be in the mountains, on the river, or at the beach,
all within a few hours.
My ideal is to motor effortlessly into the mountains
on a quiet, foggy morning, adventure awaiting.
I park my car in the drive,
It is clean and washed
And the tires are glossed,
I don’t jive
With junk tossed
Behind my seat,
Or dirt ‘neath my feet
My mats are swept
And in the trunk are kept
Only the things I need
—“Motoring,” an original poem by the author (published July 2009)