Jumping off point

I drive a convertible Mazda Miata. It's not fancy, it's 15 years old with plenty of miles, it was an inexpensive car and doesn't have a lot of luxuries. No electric windows or cupholders. But it is a simple source of joy beyond what I would have expected. I get to feel the speed of the road, being so low. I feel every rock and bump through the stiff suspension. The wind is in my hair and the sun in my eyes because the top is always down. I feel connected. Connected to the honeysuckle near the creek I smell as I drive past. Connected to the temperature of the air as beads of sweat roll off my forehead, or as the cold stings my hands through my gloved fingers. Connected to the panhandlers on the corner who know I can hear them, because they can hear me, can reach out and touch me if they wanted to. I always thought motorcycles were crazy because they were so dangerous and people chose to ride them anyway. But I think in a convertible I can understand why people put themselves in danger, freedom is priceless. I found a way to have a little piece of freedom every time I drive, and it's just wonderful.