The driveway is not the place for quiet reflection.
It’s the hub of arrivals and departures, the place where you are always hunting for the house key or the car key, busting for the toilet, tucking sweatshirts under your chin, drink bottles under your arm, grabbing shopping bags or school bags or day bags, yelling at kids to help, kicking doors open, kicking doors closed, putting everything down to hunt for keys, running back for sunglasses, putting on sunblock, finding hats, reaching for the map, plugging in the phone, fiddling with the air-conditioning, checking your reflection for toothpaste on your chin…
Then one day you glimpse a painting reflected in the wing mirror.
You spin around.
It’s the view from your driveway.
It was pretty enough when the wheat was 20cm high and fluorescent green.
It may even be better when the lavender in the foreground bursts into violet.
Right now, though, it is perfect. A view that could allow you to let everything fall from your hands and stand in the driveway staring at your neighbour’s field until your eyes heat up and your heart slows down.
It wasn’t easy, the journey to get here, but here we are.
This is the view from the driveway.