Spider lines across the map,
freedom from routine and
chores of home.
Meandering down
the back roads,
no destination in mind
 
Wind in my face, suntanned arm
out the window.
One hand on the wheel.
Each bend in the road
 brings small slices of life
 
A farmer tills the field,
sheets flap in the wind.
A woman reaches
for more clothespins
 
She glances up
I pass through with a wave
and a nod
to strangers I will never
see again.


From Falling Into One  (Publishing-Partners, 2017).
Used here with the author’s permission.