I’ve traveled these roads a thousand times
past oaks stretching problematic,
branches tangled,
through rolling hills of rich, black earth
studded with strawberries, artichokes
and Brussels’ sprouts

The sun dips down to pink sky
and on the horizon, the fringes
of distant mountains cradle me.
Grass spills down the hillside
and then to the street

The road curves unhurried
through hollows along the banks
of small rivers winding
along the interstate
past converted barns
springing up like daffodils

Above,...