It was overcast,
Sallow and empty and brisk
Clouds hang like a veil,
Thin and sheer over the earth
As she awaits a marriage with the rain.
Concrete road spread
Like a tangled grey thread,
Sewing through delicate countryside fabric,
Weaving beneath white cloths
Of a looming southern sky,
And climbing vibrant patterns
Of green quilted terrain.
Traffic breathed heavily,
And I drive in a herd
Of untamed machinery
Exhaling their hot, temperamental breath
Into the forgiving air.
Her honest, flightful ambition
Tastes sweet wafting from the backseat,
Laughter lifting the heavy air
And speakers pulsing to acoustic poetry,
Voices like candy escaping the radio and
Throwing songs to the wind.
Four, six, eight wheels
Spin past people tucked away
And hidden behind thick curtains,
Glancing eyes, soaked in love or fear,
Pass with too little consideration.
Branches of sweet candied pine
Stretch their limbs and wave as our car glides past,
Cheerful blends of sap and oak smells
Sneak through the crack of the window.
Freckled shadow, sporadic
Like glitter spilled between pine needles,
A scoop of vanilla ice cream sun
Whispers its soft, affectionate warmth
through a sky of screen-door clouds.