Autumn Drive
Early morning,
too, too early.
Highway clear,
no other cars
on this long, black
ribbon into space.
Gas gage reaches
for empty
Nose pretends
to be a sieve,
no tissues in my purse.
Stress builds.
I top a rise, descend
into a valley of color.
Fall’s brilliant hues
burst into my vision,
steal my breath.
Thank you, Father.
Tap me on the shoulder
any time you please.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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