Highway 9

Highway 9 in the morning fog
Greets me moistly through my frosted glass
A critter scoots across the lane–
the last–
the nightly reverie winding down

Redwoods drape their canopy
across the pothole lanes
And I fly down the familiar road
past hurried beauty scenes.

To sustain a life amid the
trees requires just two things–
A love of wonder, green, and cool
and gladness pure and pure.

Backyard on Highway 9

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