Saturday, December 10, 2011

Driving Home on a Winter Night

I’ve spent too long in the city,
weary of traffic and too much
of everything.

As I turn for home in the fading light
a cold mist whispers into the air,
descending like the dust of diamonds.
I thread through big rigs and pick-ups,
as the radio plays Barber’s Adagio,
steadying, calming, breathing.
I settle in for the hour’s drive.
Rain now lacquers the road, the dark
pierced by light sabers pointing the way.

The rhythm of the wipers dulls my attention
and I change the radio to an oldies station
I can sing to, memories filling the car.
On the rutted dirt road at last, my path home
draws me forward, where I live and belong
to feed on quiet, to feast on solitude.


  1. "to feast on solitude"... ah, lovely. Hugs honey!

  2. Ah, once again the 'boink' of recognition.

    Okay lady, you have called me out, along with Ray's prodding. Guest blog coming up.

    (Is there a place for that?

    Signed, Techno clueless

  3. This scene is impossible

    I reject the possibility

    Of perfection.

    The frozen dew on the fence lines

    Are impossible

    The fog lifting over pink

    Is an affront

    To what is real