Watercolor Autumn

 

76 MPH down I-85.

The tires rolling underneath

make me think of a galloping horse.

For five hours, I watch the scenery change

Towering city to

Abandoned town to

Blazing tree tops.

Colors of red, orange,

Yellow and green.

If I drive fast enough the

scenery begins to look like a

water color painting.

The alien names of places

pass in a blur outside my window.

For a brief second I can

clearly see the name of a town

and begin to imagine what

life the name hold.

Eufaula: a small town where

church becomes a social

gathering and southern accents

flow like a sweet melody.

Nothing plays on the radio.

Nothing is spoken in the car.

An occasional breeze

or car horn breaks silence.

None of us have sense of direction

we all wander aimlessly.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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