old friend poem

today i drove out in the country.

farm dogs are the happiest dogs on the planet.

the air smelled wonderful.
wet leaves and walnuts.
cool whip and soft serve clouds.

a mile away,
curtains of rain set the stage
while the sun sang over
scratched 45s.

everything had a place.
even me, streaming down the road in a baby blue
tin can.

the entire afternoon was a slow, graceful performance.
the fields and roads were empty.
the highlights were subtle.

the grass fell in love with the music and
swayed silently
back and forth
with closed eyes.

the breeze begged for human touch
as it swirled through the creek,
and spun through the trees,
and brushed the ground,
like a thick dress.

every inch of it all...
rich with detail,
gentle and soft,
reflecting itself
through fog and frosted glass.

every copper lantern, rusty hinge, rusty chain...
everything metal...
played itself lightly
like a hollow field of bells.

every branch, every mailbox, every fence post,
every piece of wood...
stretched and moaned
and slept soundly.

sometimes the world
screams for attention.

sometimes it sparks itself up and
slams the screen door.

but then...
on days like this,
it bounds through the city with a quiet urgency,
rushes across the pavement trailing strings of dried leaves,
draws a deep, limitless breath and prepares itself
for war.

only to pause

whisper and wink

and walk with a cane.

just an old friend,
saying hello.