My Coffee and Me on a Two-Lane Highway

Irene Keller

June 7, 2026

A perfect hour with coffee in hand to drive on a two-lane highway 

where oak leaves wave as if to say, “Come this way, into the open

horizon of make-believe where ghosts swing dance to the wind.”

Easy sips of steaming coffee, easy drive along the road where no

neighbor slams the backdoor, yells what the dog did or didn’t do.

As I drive, the warm caffeine awakens my senses to notice, on a 

fence post, a squirrel signaling me with his tail—to follow, to sing   

with him, his friends around collected pecans—afterwards a feast.  

Driving my desired speed, no fear of coffee spills, or danger of two 

semis on both sides of me wanting to squeeze my car into flat metal.

My cup of java and my wheels taking me down the quiet road remind  

me of when my granddad, who always traveled with coffee, driving me 

to a hill country ranch where I could pretend with a stick to brand cattle. 

With the warmth of coffee and the calm along the two-lane road, I enjoy

not seeing red tail-lights, instead, witness white-tailed deer jump fences. 

Coffee getting cold, gas gauge low, time to refuel at the only open store 

on Main Street, then onward with the window down to hear shod hoofs

hit the asphalt as a rider tips her hat at me—once a horsewoman as she.

Fresh hot brew keeps me alert as I drive with lights on to meet a hazy

mist yet free from oncoming lights that make a road seem to disappear. 

Though coffee still hot and the two-lane highway doesn’t end, time to 

return to dull city, as I pass young green corn stalks that look like a

field of kites wanting, waiting to fly, so people would pause to wonder.

Irene Keller, PhD. is a former Texas public educator who can take time to dream, to reflect, to escape urban life while driving on Texas two-lane highways.