Once again this morning, my commute filled me with joy, as I drove along through the wet dark. My radio sang along with me as I passed under trees, past houses, through neighborhoods, as I climbed hills and swung around corners. I was always the only one in my lane, going my direction. I would occasionally pass cars in the left-turn lanes, but otherwise, I drove alone, passing the long stream of headlights going the opposite direction. Even over Mount Tabor, no one in my rear view. The tires hissed, the windshield wipers hissed in alto counterpoint, my small warm dry space was warm and dry.