Going Home

I'm not accustomed to driving in rush-hour city traffic at the end of the work day.  Many people do it effortlessly each day and night, but not I.  My daily commute is driving a few blocks west of where I work into my driveway and then into my garage, a commute that takes all of five minutes.  One recent weeknight, however, I found myself in rush-hour traffic, flowing with the crowd to get out of the city onto the four-lane highway and back home again.  The zipping in and out of cars from one lane to the other is a foreign experience for me that was made just that much more treacherous because of a sleety-snowy mix dumping heavily from the sky.  All I could think was how much I wanted to go home, to be home, to arrive there safely in one piece.  I prefer to be spared that white-knuckle experience again.  I'm meant to live and work in the same community with that exhausting, five-minute commute.