Why I Love My Convertible

The smell of lilacs,
fresh cut grass,
newly plowed fields ripe
with manure,
pine forests and mulch,
wood smoke,
and the approaching storm,
dank and threatening,

The feel of sun,
of wind,
of speed no longer disguised,
of being there, not
merely passing by.

Everything is experienced,
and perhaps I am more tired at the journey’s end,
but I am also more exhilarated
in the passage.

About this poem

This afternoon I drove my son to a friend’s house in the convertible, and driving back, I was soaking up the smells and experience of the drive. I have driven convertibles for a long time and I never tire of them.

Tom