from the bicycle seat

The cracked old road always

looks different:

The corn crop is taller this year.

The tassels are a deeper shade

of brown,

The road is filling with grass shoots

or not,

Queen Anne’s Lace nods everywhere

Touch-me-nots have exploded

since the rain.

Deadly nightshade on the corner

has disappeared.

A hawk makes tours overhead as a

butterfly feasts on milkweed.

Poison ivy vines wrap around

several white birches

They threaten like green,

angry snakes.

Neighbor’s “free veggies” sign

is getting sturdier

As his garden gets larger.

This country road is a bumpy,

rough place of magic,

It is a rolling camera of birth

and death,

States of being: dog walkers,

other bicyclists, swallows,

Cats, coyote, deer, fox, soft whir

of mourning dove wings,

Sky window filled with shattering

cottonwood leaves

A barometer of life seen at mere

miles per hour.

Linda Rosenthal

(Aug.10) adds, “My husband and I recently returned from a motorcycle trip to Yellowstone National Park and many points in-between with a refreshed sense of wonder for nature. What a beautiful country we live in and what a privilege it is to see more of it.”

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