Wrenching the brakes,
Just short of the hill’s crest,
Shielded from the biting wind
By the grace of a holey sweater,
I stop.
Eyes watering,
Peering down into the valley,
A sea of grass flows before me
As far as the human eye can see.
My road, alone, parts the waters.
A thin layer of frost blankets
The buds trying to break out of prison;
Caterpillars snuggle deeper into bed
Ignoring the howling wind
That calls them all to wake.
A hint of sunlight, breaking
Through the clouds, illuminates
A few patches of dirt before coming to rest
At a solitary building squatting
‘Neath the shroud of a willow’s shade.
The funeral home shimmers,
Built in the middle of nowhere.
I finger the sewing kit in my pocket,
An odd souvenir from the manager
That time curiosity nearly killed me.
One foot on the pedal,
The wind slams into me.
Gravel shifts beneath me.
I dig a heel into the road.
And wait.
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