Speckled sun strobe sojourn

Transit. Wide windows open to the world. Skirting down a road thru nowhere, not a bump in the asphalt. Smooth.
A light fog blankets the valley off the port bow of your streamlined ship, unstirred by the morning sun slowly emerging from its restless nest.
As the sun loosens its influence from the horizon, the light grows more intense, as if it too is renewed like that day you shall receive.
Not another car in sight, you open the throttle up a bit, feeling the nervous stimulant tickle your veins like an unknown hand stroking the back of your shoulder.
In this moment, you feel, no, are alive.

Wise old trees line the road, planted many generations ago by a farmer caught up in the simple pleasures of life.
The suns rays streak through the spectating trees, golden hues fill the interior and light up the sticky dust on the windshield in flashes. The faster you go, the faster it feels.
Strobing streaks of sun, tricking your iris into closing your pupils, shielding your eyes like blast-shields and then immediately reacting by opening again to the darkness.
Each time as they open, the receiving retina, ready for more, is blasted with fresh photons. You can feel the intenisty.
In this moment, you feel, no, are invincible.

Wise old trees turn to spirits, ancestors, egging you on to greatness. You're in a race, and they're supporters, chanting your name.
Excited fans, reaching to the skies with their arms and their eagerness, faceless yet familiar.
Their shadows form interesting shapes in the road and offer your mind a brief harbour from all the painful seas, a place to play.
The journey becomes easier, your mind refreshed.
In this moment, everything feels, no, is surreal.

You're the main star in an epic film, the camera is focused on you, the scene composed in that golden memory is perfect, and you're staring out the window.
Its the sorta scene lovelost fools will watch cheap-reproductions-of for many years and know exactly how you feel.
Its the sorta scene all aspiring directors would die to recreate, yet re-creation is cheap.
You're the main star in your own epic, but its not yet time for the final credits.
In this moment of moments, everything is perfect.