a place called driver's seat

the windshield is blurry with rain.
trees are green mosaics and the house looks like a painting of a house
streaky and indistinct.
she pulls her legs up into the seat and leans her head back
uses her pinky finger to wipe the dust from the dashboard and the gear shift.
wipes the dust on her jeans 
checks the rearview mirror 
closes her eyes
the sound of the rain relaxes her and her shoulders drops an inch or so.
she surprises herself by thinking how very safe she feels right now in this minute
and 
spends the next thirty minutes like this
happy
that she doesn't need to be anywhere else.
she considers how simply amazing it is to live in a world where water falls from the sky
and how utterly we take that bizarre and wonderful fact for granted.
this thought and others like it are her company
until her sleeping baby starts to wake up in the backseat
and she hops out into the rain to take the baby inside.