A road. This one in winter,
So still snow lingers on the limbs.
Stop the car and listen. There is silence,
except in the distance, you hear an owl
singing one last song as the sky lightens.
A road. It calls to you.
They all do. Where they lead matters little.
Destinations are nice enough,
but mostly they serve as an excuse
to wander. To lose yourself in the journey.
to see new places, to lose yourself
in the prayers and music you play,
The noise of the wind and the whine of the tires,
the further, the better. The road there
and the road back. Time disappears,
and with it, your worries. Life becomes hope,
a long road in front of you, beckoning.
About this poem
I love to drive. I’d rather drive than fly most places. What is a burden for some is a joy to me.
Really visual. Me too. Love to drive. Part of the family heritage.
You give voice to the quiet and peace of an open road