6 AM

You climb into the truck at six AM,
sluggish, weary,
aware of your age
and the toll your travels have taken
on your body and soul.

You wonder,
not for the first time,
if perhaps you have taken one too may journeys
for your own good.

But then you smell the morning air.
cold, with a taste of wood smoke far in the distance.
As you roll down the window,
you hear birds sing
and watch the wind make the trees dance.

And that is enough,
just that small hint that there is something beyond
to be discovered.
Your heart quickens as you turn the key,
anxious to be on your way.

About this Poem

I travel a lot. This is how I feel sometimes.

Tom