1.15.14 Hands Held Close Against The Night

Was racing from home, old and young dogs in tow, 

to pick up my beloved at work ,

 when out of the corner of my eye , 

the old Food Bank Farm 's vista called out. 

Thought I'd become mired in the deep mud as I swung in, 

the dogs all ' oh crap- here we go again..." 

But I just rolled down the window and captured 

the rich thick wet earth , 

the old barn standing guard in hot summer or frigid winter, 

the Maple that does grace the edge of the field, 

and then the sun setting- 

or earth turning away

( whichever floats your boat 

or eases you into deep untroubled sleep tonight)

As I finish up, to the relieved sigh of canines,
up goes the window, 

we rock the car a bit to get some mud leverage,
and then take our chance
and peel out, 

the splatter sounds of flinging earth landing along the road 

as we get back on track and

closer to beloveds and dog thunders through the woods

 and then quiet dinner 

with a sweaty well-worked- out- guy, 

and hands held close against the night.