Once again, the sun irresistibly called me.
I surveyed potential destinations and chose one,
a little lake maybe twenty miles northwest of here
down two-lane country highways edged by farms.
And on the way back home, I decided, I’d ramble,
taking whatever road called me. The lake sparkled
in the sun. Migrating geese honked from its far shore.
I stood beneath a maple that sported swollen buds,
and for several minutes, I forgot. I was back in time,
in Before World, the dancing light, the wind, the geese
holding me in their mesmerizing spell. As I traveled
toward home, Before World lured me down side roads
I hadn’t traveled in years. I parked on one and walked
a field full of memories. There, the sycamores, and
downstream the spot where a bridge used to cross
and you could walk to an old cemetery up the hill.
In summer, this whole place was filled with daisies.
It was all so vivid, like images in a lucid dream.
We take them with us, I realize, images of all we’ve seen.
The thought comforts me as I drive home, the cows
grazing in a field breaking my heart.