As I drive this lonely freeway looking past the filth of the windshield.
I see the beautiful hills and plains that surround me.
The waving of the tall grass invites me on a journey to a distant past.
Where wagon wheels rolled through them, with each slow pounding step of oxen and horses.
Carrying a family or two within each of them, looking for promises of a better future.
Little boys and girls bounced around as each wheel jerked over the untamed ground.
How I wonder what they could tell us today about life back then.
The sunbaked red dirt of the hot desert floor, with tall cacti men waving in the distance.
Like friendly sentinels watching over the red-skinned natives.
A little brave running over the mesa with the sun starting to get low.
Watching his father’s return from a long day of hunting.
Hoping to see a deer across the horse’s back, happy to just see his father again.
How I wonder what they could tell us today about life back then.
Cool mountain air flows through my open windows, the smell of pine so clean and pure.
Deer running through the forest trying to evade the lonely mountain man.
Rugged and rough, hair hanging off his shoulders, and a long thick beard covering his face.
Wandering through the mountains in search of peace and rest from the modern world of his time.
Desperately trying to live his life with no care for the world he left behind.
Missing the softness of his wife’s pretty hands that he lost last June.
How I wonder what they could tell us today about life back then.
Here I sit today, in this modern world.
A world that those before me could have never dreamt of.
Moving so fast, but always seeming to be behind.
Creature comforts surround me, in a rush all the time.
Never truly alone, yet lonelier than ever.
We must be pretending, we must be dreaming,
That this life of ours, Is better than those before us.
