I followed Jesus's Camaro on the way home from Normal last night. It bled into view as the rain came down somewhere north of the Michigan state line. A 1990s version, spoilers and with huge tires. "JC" in ornate type on the back of the trunk lid. His long dark hair falling over the headrest as the dim sunset illuminated the passenger cabin. What (else) would Jesus drive?

I crossed America on the way home from Normal last night. The remnants of the tall corn crop pressing in on the highways. Barns pulled from Hopper's palette the only skyline (save the silos and roadside McDonald's signs). The malls of the south Chicago suburbs rising along Interstate 80, the nation's main street. The colors of the autumn framing the Great Lake shore.

I let my mind drift on the way home from Normal last night. Cut free from unmasked moorings, held only by tidal pulls (rarely understood this far from the salt water seas), chilled by the water below and heated by the fading sun. The cruise control set just below "pull-over speed" - the clouds running too fast for me to catch up.

Ira Socol