The Purple Patch - Missouri Valley College

Browning Road
by Blake Studer
I catch myself staring in the rearview mirror at the
plume of white smoke following my car. The fog of memories
envelops me until I can’t feel the constant bumping of
gravel underneath my tires. I reminisce about the times my
father took me along this road at the break of dawn to go
fishing. I stared at the smoke back then as well, sometimes
getting lost in it and completely ignoring my old man.
In the present, I snap myself back into reality. “I still
have a ways to drive,” I tell myself. “When I get there I can
think.”
Once I pass the Greenwood Cemetery, I crank my
wheel to the left and arrive. My “happy place” isn’t really
a single place, instead it’s more of a long winding road.
A place where I can go to think, or even better, not think
about anything at all. Browning Road has always been my
little secret, my own slice of calm and peace whenever I
need to “lose” myself for hours and not even know it. Trees
arch over each side to provide an eternal shade that mostly
covers the road. Where there are occasional breaks in the
barrier of trees, streaks of bright, luminescent sunlight
highlight the bumps and cracks of the old, paved road.
The only sounds come from my radio, usually whispering
tunes of Mumford & Sons or Manchester Orchestra
to add a peaceful ambiance for the journey, and my
thoughts.
It doesn’t matter what I have to think about, nor
does it matter what I have to get away from. When I can’t
fix some situations by myself, that’s when I go to Browning.
35