Road to the sun

Seven thirty and I am out the gate, cross the road and cut through the village. Eight, may be nine houses and then I'm among the fields. A red sun rising in the mist. And the road. It's a small road, two and a half meters wide, no more. It goes up the hill, in an unwavering line, straight into the sun. Just up ahead.
I know that beyond the top of the hill the road curves to the right and misses the sun by, oh ... miles. Easily. But from where I am standing it is the vision, not the knowledge, that grabs me. A hundred meters, that's all it is.
So quiet.
So big.