Posted in Prose California


The quiet
of the morning
shattered by my outward
freeway thoughts
cars racing, heavy traffic
rivers rushing, trees
where woodpeckers worked
where rubber met asphalt, squealing
the crispness of the morning air
inhaling diesel, the exhaust choking

The morning breeze
wafting higher than my thoughts
the first light of sun
dancing across the treetops
a twig breaks, leaves flutter
my heart skips a beat…..

My inward wilderness
grace the otherwise noisy
of my freeway