Back Roads

I drive these back roads…



reminded of home.

Long, desperate, going places that have passed along.

Gritty browns with nameless…greens.

A picturesque, quaint, scene.

Of course,

I have aged like farm-stand cheddar.

Tart but tasteful. with a woodsy trace.

Though life has sped up.

I manage to find a slower pace.

In a quest for deeper appreciation…

I delve further.

Windows down…

Listening for a weathered sound.

There are no wrong turns…

In my veiled valleys.

Just moss under my wheels.

And, a love for nature’s folly.


The warmth of lily pads had beckoned me back.

Had I known I lost my way…would I have come here to stay?

So far down the broken walls and Morrill Ponds…I had strayed.

A graceful, swoop of Blue Heron, caught my entanglements and, my manner of being easily…dismayed.

Hidden inlets and their flowers…had rosined up the bow to a bullfrog’s song.

Sun bathing Snap Turtles felt no need to run from my dusty, collective thoughts.

In the echo of my dusty self indulgence….

Could it be I just needed to get out of my own way?

Handles of Freedom

A fray, a strand, a clinging leaf, a handle.

What the cost of freedom?

Do I hang to all the is given to me, as though, it were my last breath?

Do I become everything expected of me?

Though it makes my movement less.

Years before my age, the distance of choice, further and further out of reach.

I am as free today…as I will ever be.

I dangle from fresh, baby pine.

I spin my web as I choose.

I do not need to enter the roads in which I have been led.

Abiding Grace

Grace, a dark horse.

A walk, purposeful, in the spilling rain.

A collection of wild ocean roses from a strangeland.

Eye candy for the laden soul.

Dignity singing nature’s song from the bottom of a deep well.

I cannot recall when I knew you…well.

The visions of ‘could be’ tarry with the stories I cannot tell.

Grace, a dark horse in which my song stands still.

In My Backyard

In my own backyard…

kittens in the field playing with mice.

frenzied dogs that do not stop to think twice.

In spite of myself…this is the life.

Bluster and cluster of flora and fauna I do not wish to name.

Latin, for me, has never been a ‘plain jane.’

I understand retreat for some can be a penance.

But for some it brings only deliverance.