Driving In The Hills In Early Fall
Yellow leaves flash the window,
a fringe on the green,
too early for the tourists,
the peaks still serene,
been aching to escape from
telephones and cubicles,
only noise is my own thoughts
so meandering and dull.
Just the wind as it’s blowing
my hair all around,
the wild turkeys scatter
at the engine sound,
people say that I wander,
they all say I’m wasting gas,
sitting there watching football
to make the afternoons pass.
But the air and the silence
brings peace to my mind,
or maybe I just glimpse it
stolen piece of time.
I know the trees don’t feel so,
know that they don’t feel a thing,
just illusions on the thoughts
of a tired and caged thing.
Got no task that needs doing,
no weight on the nerves,
no social obligations,
just time well-deserved,
some say that it is aimless,
so I guess they know the truth,
but so then is their worry,
and I do not need them too.
All the echoes and the empty,
the bucolic scene,
just speaks to the point of it,
it just lets me be.
No reason I justify,
nothing I must account for,
existence for its own sake,
if just a few hours more…
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