Woodsmoke

 

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Leaves bounce across the road swirling furiously in sync to the quick rhythm of a broken-heart-country music tune.  The sun is shining through my moist eyes.

Mister turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose” *

I am intrigued by the leaves that seem to be joyously skipping off the ghetto of raked piles free to blow and careen with the wind.

This old honky-tonk sure does feel like home” *

I ride along railroad tracks next to a narrow but long lake as an equally long passenger train rolls alongside headed for the city.  Finally the caboose pulls ahead of me, and I can see the end of the lake.

Louder is better” *

Ole man winter is blowin’ in this Sunday before Thanksgiving.  It’s even too cold for the snow flurries they predicted.  A dusting lingers that fell last night and beyond the reach of the prevailing winds.

I ride to the farmers’ market for the last of the season’s harvest.  The vegetables are freezing on the stands as red fingers hand me back my change.

Always this between the last leaf fall and the first snow, I grow bluesy and melancholy and grieve for all the lonely hearts.

 

woodsmoke

a fleeting feeling

of madness **

ag

 

* song lyrics to “Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose” by Dwight Yoakam

** haiku previously published in A New Resonance Six   by Redmoon Press

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