It was an ordinary highway that ran through the sagebrush to a scattering of the juniper trees. The name of the highway is not significant, as it was much like others in Central Oregon. Indeed the name of the road has left my memory. It really does not matter, as it was what happened along that lonely stretch that makes me remember that ordinary highway.

Some years ago while working at an eastern Oregon outpost I was on the road to the nearest large town. I had traveled for many miles enduring the boredom of the desert by listening to radio music in my truck. Suddenly a light flashed on my windshield. A small pickup was parked along side the highway and the sun were reflecting light from one of its mirrors. I slowed down and saw that there was a small folding table set up near the truck with two people seated at it. They appeared to be engrossed in having a picnic.

The table was covered with a small red and white checked cloth. In the middle of the table stood a candle, and a bottle of wine. This scene fascinated me. I was tired anyway, so I stopped my vehicle under a juniper tree a few feet away from the couple. Thirsty I pulled a drink from my cooler, and watched the couple with interest. After all to see two people seated under a juniper tree being so involved was something I had never seen in the desert. If they noticed me sitting in my Ranger and drinking my pop, they gave no evidence of it, being in a world of their own.

Under that juniper tree they sat with the sun and the desert wind blowing tumble-weeds around their feet. The gusts had thrown a few limp gray hairs over his eyes. She reached up with lined hands and pushed them to the side. A kerchief framed her face leaving gray and white strands hanging to her shoulders. He took her hands in his and kissed each finger-tip. She smiled up at him--meeting his eyes. He poured the wine and handed her one of the small glasses. They toasted and slowly drank their drink. From a wicker basket at his feet he took out bread and cheese. He slowly sliced the cheese and broke the bread into pieces. He placed a portion of the food on a napkin and held it out to her. For a moment she touched his hand and held it before taking her gift.

I watched as this drama unfolded in the desert. I ate a candy bar and hauled out another cool drink. A bird called out its song. A rabbit ran across the road and some cattle searched for some grass between the brush. I was alone in the desert with my truck, music, cooler, and some candy bars.

They were alone with each other. I suddenly felt like an intruder. My truck was heating up inside from the hot sun. Time for me to put my rig into gear and follow this road into town. I sped away from the scene wondering--who were these people? I will never know, of course. But I hoped that someday I would fathom that kind of love.

My Ranger sped away on that ordinary highway and the couple gave no notice of my departure.

I have just recently retired from teaching and have started a new career as a free-lance writer.
Mary McKinley