soft country drive

Memories sink back into the soft ground. Sweet must of hay mingles with the sea air. The cold morning fog washes in and out clusters of leafy hemispheres on spines of bark. The smelling salts of horse droppings snap yesterday’s dried twigs. I awaken here to a past I older than I experienced but feel it reach into me and claim me as its own. When the sun breaks through, it shines ancient as I drive away.

8 thoughts on “soft country drive”

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