Monday, May 26, 2025
leaving behind my bucolic burg
and driving into the loud suburbs
where I sleep amid sirens and loud exhaust
thinking of all the nature I’ve lost
my daily drive from work to home
is a bittersweet torture I suffer alone
leaving the place where my soul resides
winding down the narrow road while I cry
Over hill and dale, awash in green,
I see a hornet’s nest up high in the tallest tree.
as my car dips down the road to the creek,
the branches merge above, fleshed out with leaves.
they close in above
like a tree tunnel of love
the seam is the line I don’t cross in the road
watching out for squirrels or the occasional toad
as I drive I remember sunsets from the the top of the hill
and the sound of peeper frogs from my windowsill
I remember wisteria blooms and the cool spring breeze
and no bugs yet, because it’s still 52 degrees
the fireflies would be coming soon
to quiet nights in the yard with mother moon
and the sound of the horses pounding the earth
as they run in the dark to drink from the trough
I miss the plaintive sounds of foxes calling
as I look up to catch a star’s slow falling
and the foggy foothills, and orange sunrises
how I miss those sweet days
and the stillness and silence
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