There in the spring

Oh, the lure of the open road.
I feel it every spring.
And summer.
And fall.
And winter.

But mostly in the spring.

It is the giddy flip of my stomach when I wake to see a blue sky,
and it is the shake of my fist at the door to the office, the chair at my desk,
the dazed and unblinking stare of my computer screen.

I don't want to be here. Not in the spring.

I want to be there.

Where, there? you ask.

Just...
there...

in that magical unknown,
that place, that state
of being

anywhere else,
somewhere else,

on the open road where there is nothing, save God,
and a stupid giddy grin that is the truest me I know.