It was hours in the car
but we held hands
and the sky kept changing
so time was but a breath,
a turn of the light,
feet landing on grass in one place
and rock in another.
There was a beautiful old house
about halfway through the trip,
a bit ramshackle with peeling white paint.
It had put up a fight with nature
in the middle of a once-tended field
but nature was now winning,
vines and flowers and weeds claiming
more and more, beams and windows fading.
Time was taking a deep breath there,
taking in the house like it was sucking air
enough for a deep dive underground
to rally old roots and new shoots.
Content to keep going,
I would have liked a longer look
and maybe a word with the hawk
that perched in the pines,
but I remember the angle of its head
as it surveyed the landscape
and I was glad to be part of it.
The Word Rummager 
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