weary of traffic and too much
As I turn for home in the fading lighta 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 attentionand 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.