Heavy rain lashed against the windshield, and the wipers worked at full speed to clear it away. The headlights of an oncoming truck seemed brighter than usual, making it even harder to see. I eased down on the brake and brought the car to a stop. The wipers were still sweeping faithfully back and forth. Beyond them, the lights of the rest area shimmered and swayed, blurred by the rain's reflection. A long, quiet breath escaped me. I let go of the steering wheel and turned off the engine. What a drive. What a downpour. It had been tough going, but somewhere inside, I smiled to myself — spring, I thought. Probably no more snow after this. I threw open the car door and made a dash for it. The rain showed no mercy even in the seconds it took to open my umbrella. I stepped straight into a puddle — splash — and winced as I ran for the restroom. Business done, I washed my hands. My eyes drifted to a small bunch of flowers beside the mirror — tulips, gerberas, a few others, arranged casually in a plain glass vase. My gaze met one of the gerberas. Good work today. That's what it seemed to say. The tension I'd been carrying in my shoulders quietly melted away. Lately, the restrooms at highway service areas often have flowers like these. Sometimes a seasonal display, sometimes a small note that says "Drive safe." The facilities themselves are always kept spotlessly clean. When I think about how much work that takes for the people who maintain them, I feel nothing but respect. A few flowers, placed without fanfare, can soften the whole feel of a space. They make you want to treat the place a little more gently, without anyone having to say a word. When I'm worn out from driving and I stand before those flowers, something inside me loosens. Tonight was no different. In the end, all that remains is gratitude.