The lights bobbed in the distance, as if the land had turned liquid and they were beacons moving up and down with the swells. Blinking my tired eyes did little to stabilize the view. This was nothing new, though. My weak eyes had long had problems with lights at distance in the dark. That sentence would remain true if it had just been distance. The dark only made it worse. Lights were a trick I would always fall for, a riddle I could never solve.
The lights continued to bounce and I carried on, trying to ignore them and their trickster commentary on my shortcomings. The day would come and the lights would fade behind me and out of my memory while the sun took its place in my horizon. The distance would solidify once more. My sight would improve. And the two, intertwined, would improve my mood even if only for a short time. Sometimes that is all that is needed, a small moment of hope and brilliance, of clear sight, to fight against the darkness of our days and thoughts.
The lights crashed and retracted. My mind raced. The road beneath my tires slipped by from the darkness ahead to the darkness behind, the dashed yellow line ticking off the miles. The lights, moving unnaturally in their swaying, hypnotizing, distracting way, tried to grab my attention, tried to suck me into their depths and I ignored them. But, not entirely. They held too much sway in the way they moved, like buoys on a rising sea, for me to forget them entirely.