Driving through a memory of childhood,
A symphony of quiet things
And animals,
Children’s voices in the chorus.
The sound of birds and an occasional car passing.
The smell of wind blowing through the cornfields,
A cow’s breath and maybe
Some diesel—
The perfume of rural life.
The green earth and blue sky
Wide and yawning
before me to see
moving along the strip of gray country road
twisting and calling as if I am part of it,
part of me, somewhere absorbed into the rocks and trees.
The ageless child, full of wonder,
I can feel myself
simultaneously standing still and
Traveling into the distance
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