First miles leaving home,
last miles coming back,
once gravel, now paved,
drifts deeper, clears slower,
than any other road,
runs seven miles through beauty.
teal and mallards waddling,
red-winged blackbirds singing from reeds,
plowed fields and ponds alive with promise.
an eagle soars and
a red-tailed hawk perched on a road sign
watches the hearse go by.
knee high by the Fourth of July,
higher yet, until
a person could get lost in the fields,
geese honk high,
rooster pheasants parade roadside,
seagulls follow the plow.
Trees turn gold,
fields to sere stalks, then stubble.
deer ghost through fields at dusk.
Frost, snow, silver
trees, fields, ponds, roads.
is it icy? drifted? plowed yet?
that dreaded Darwin road