High Beams

A longer nothing: how is that possible? Now all you can see is the road. The fog has thinned enough for high beams, reaching farther into the future, yellow reflectors racing toward you, then past. Lights are scattered across the prairie, unnaturally white on the barns, warmer in windows, headlights moving far away, a red light blinking up ahead. Mailboxes. Signs of proximity. Here.