My grip on the steering wheel of the old white ford pick-up sent another cold shiver through my body as I headed for town. Either I'm getting too old to feel the heat, or I’m getting too old to put any out. I buttoned the top button on my faded jean jacket.

With a quirky twist of the knob, I turned on the radio at the bottom of the first hill. Once again the beautiful row of old, gnarled oak trees dipping their branches over the hilly county road captured my attention. Cannon by Pachabel warmed my ears. The morning sun danced through the fingered branches, bounced across the prison farms light green roof tops, and dipped highlighting the dew-kissed daffodils peeking around fence posts in the silent wind. Violins fell into soft crescendos. A silken ray of sun escorted a flock of Canada Geese from an empty pasture next to the road, to a lazy pond a few feet away.

Over the next hill magic happened. Mt. Jefferson bursting up from behind old growth evergreen firs snatched my breath away. She stood regal and proud, fully wrapped in her winter white coat with a tint of peach trimmings. I slowed to a near stop and gasped. In an adagio, quiet sigh I released the air from my chambered lungs. Did the nascent beauty of the gorgeous mountain erupt onto nature’s scene quickly, or did the stunning formation develop and emerge in tiny measured movements of time?

The back roads take a little longer to get me into town but you can’t buy the postcard views from a tourist shop rack. Warmth surrounded me, though the heater still hadn't melted the cold temperature in the cab.

At the stop sign hugging the bottom of the last hill, I lingered for a relaxing moment and tucked the award winning view into a pristine page in my memory. How delicious to open my book anytime I want, with applied anticipation waiting, to view the radiant bloom the picture portrayed.

The old pick-up groaned in my effort to coax it onward. Ignoring the complaints I shifted through the gears and settled back in my lumpy seat. I hummed to the music, even tapped my fingers playfully against the steering wheel, joining the mellow beat.

An instant later, my windshield framed a lone Holstein. The animal swaggered down the road and came to a solid stop across the center line. A long whine accompanied the pick-up’s short stop. The fierce swish of the cow’s tail marked her annoyance. She stretched out her neck, flashed big, brown, angry eyes at me and bellowed, carrying an incriminating tone implying I was in her way.

I laughed. She was right. I had blocked her breathtaking morning view.