It was already raining lightly when I left the office late Friday afternoon. By the time I merged onto the interstate, the gentle summer rain had turned into a gushing torrent of water. Somewhere along I-459 south of Birmingham, I could barely seen the tail lights of the car creeping along in front of me.
Traffic was bumper to bumper in all three lanes of each direction. We inched along dangerously. I was afraid of what I might hit as I kept going forward, but I was equally afraid of being hit in the rear if I didn’t move fast enough.
I simply couldn’t see what was going on — and I was afraid that trying to pull off the road was no better since I couldn’t see anything and others couldn’t see me.
So I moved along blindly — barely moving — as buckets of rain continued to fall from the sky.
And then I saw something that seemed like a faint shaft of light in the sky off to my right. The rain still beat down furiously, but where was that light coming from?

13 observations as we watch for the world to burn in Trump era
Time for anger? Dissent is good, but ask what the dissenters stand for
Even when folks praise my work, my secret fear is I may be a fraud
I don’t like to admit this, but recent changes leave me afraid
You always need enough money that you can quit when it’s time
Goodbye, Merlin (2003-2022)
Pride can drive dumb behaviors, even if subject is just car lights
People who confront harsh reality are ones who survive bad times
Playing it safe isn’t good enough; I have to do things that might fail