mid-day poem, June 4, 2016

The old road was a new road for us
We left our common way and rode
Into a winding hollow.
Up the first rise and into a long curve
Above us wooded hillside
Beneath an old homestead
With mown lawn stretching away and
Long, red-dirt garden patch out back
Foot-high tomato plants
Behind chicken wire
A shirtless man on the front porch waves hello
Further on we cruise out of the shade
And into sunny open country
There are chickens, rust and yellow colored,
A house trailer
And the crumbling remains of
What must have been a country store
Then back into the shade of
The narrowing hollow
Almost entunneled
The cool of morning is bracing
And we soar up the slight grade
Alongside the little, clearwater branch
Anxious for more country unknown
As we rise, the forest looks older
No one has harvested these steep hillsides
Honeysuckle decks the bar ditch on the south
Its scent in pockets in the air we ride through
We reach the hilltop – or is this a mountain?
And the earth drops away
And the forest cover vanishes
And we are startled at the size and brightness of the sky

Copyright 2016

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