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.
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.
Listening for a weathered sound.
There are no wrong turns…
In my veiled valleys.
Just moss under my wheels.