Far from the deserted country roads that are
lined in golden hues,
traced in grey, with blue herons standing solo
upon unplanted fields due to the lack of water,
we drove through long-needed rain and autumn chill,
windshield wipers wipe back and forth as my eyes hold back tears,
my mind wanders wide in that open space as it drops thoughts of nothingness as if I were emptying my pockets of collected wrappers, tissues, and receipts,
the streets of France wind their way into my childhood home, and funny; though the rhythms are different, they harmonize with the paths leading here.
Maybe after these many years, I have come into my skin.
The blur of one road to the focus of another.
The road leads to two homes.
One thing is at the core, the haunting truth we are growing older,
The goodbyes are tugging at my roots in a way they haven't before.
Strangely, love seems to pour through every cell in everything around me.
Calling out to me to embrace the path and be thankful.
Leave a Reply