Long roads
I like to travel with my family. I go to the gas station with my mother.
The garage man checks our car for safety.
We go back home and I sit on top of a big suitcase so Dad can close it.
And then we’re ready.
While I ride I look at road maps. My state looks small on a map, but,
oh, there are long roads between cities. I see the bridges, tunnels,
lakes, rivers, farms, factories, and forests, and I know my state is not
small, but big.
When we travel, I never know what I will see next. A pet monkey with
clothes on. A marching band. A truckload of cows. And people, people,
people.
Sometimes we sleep in a motel. Sometimes we sleep in a friend’s house.
Each morning before we leave I must be sure we have not forgotten
anything.
I like to go away. But when we are almost home, I wonder how my house
will look and if my friends will welcome me. I always find that my house
looks fine. My friends shout, “Come play!”
