A mist hangs over everything, and the cypress trees stand silently, hovering in a commanding fashion over the stagnant water that covers their roots and makes their home.
The asphalt stretches in front of you for a hundred thousand miles, and the mist sweeps over it and under it and through it, and the soft hint of sunlight on the horizon filters through the leaves and trickles down onto the roadway, and the moist air rushes in through windows and makes breathing beautiful.
The engine hums and the haze unfolds as day breaks over the endless Virginia Tidewater swamp, state route 156 fading and being reclaimed by that upon which it encroaches.