Beauty like a tightened bow

porsche_cayman_s_2005a.jpg

My dear Porsche,
You are aptly named the cayman; a small agile alligator. No pretensions there, no need for hyperbole.There’s something of a riotous instinctual energy within, to which my appropriate attitude is admiring, even submissive.

With those ponderous, frog eyes staring querulously at the roads, you deliver the purest expression of speed and intent.
There is no need for fearsome headlights compensating for weak wills. No need for super-aspirated engines ponying up for mediocre aspirations.
Gone is the envy for other leather seats, or the 600 W Bose setup, or even that suspicious garage technician meddling with your ECU via his Dell.

Envy, they say, is the tribute mediocrity pays to genius.

In my daydream tryst on a deserted tarmac, you and I are hurtling forward at 200 km/h, and the roar from your internal engine is biblical. The downforce may be enough to lift objects airborne, but Porsches, like hawks or crocodiles, don’t misjudge wind and water.

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