Time flies when you’re having a transcendental moment

It was a pastel morning. Cornflower blue clouds looked liked distant mountain ranges, the sun highlighting their sky crevices with the palest of yellow-rose.

I turned on the car radio and Arleen Auger’s clear soprano voice sang Bach’s Bist du bei mir (no. 7). As I drove into the sunrise I felt transported, enraptured, entranced.

Just then, and as the queue of traffic I was in merged onto an off ramp, a woman in a blue Mustang almost clipped my back bumper trying to cut in line and speed around me. I gunned it and didn’t let her have the satisfaction.

“Bitch,” I snarled.

Transcendence, it seems, only lasts so long.

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