A soggy day in March. Rutted dirt road. When would this detour end? Was he on the wrong road? Would the rain ever stop? Questions tumbled through his mind. Why did little irritants still annoy him so much? Like the erosion of customer survey data. Why hadn’t he seen it coming? Again. Above all, how was Maria?
It was dark when he finally reached her place. She was reading with music in the background. Mozart? Mahler? He wasn’t sure. She seemed stronger. A big relief.
You got a late start?
No, a flood washed out part of the road. Felt like I was on a detour to nowhere. Trapped in a river of mud.
Did you consider your plight a gift?
Not at first. He smiled. But it got me thinking about bogs. And bumps in the road. ...