The Old Covered Bridge

THE OLD COVERED BRIDGE Late fall Country scene One birch, close by, already bare With a taste of frost in the air And this sturdy, old, covered bridge – this haven - Strong tiled, tightly sided. A few slats still thrive - Strips of weathered-green survive. Late fall, Looking far, from Terry’s Mount, At distance she commands the eye - Her autumn regalia, the peaks, gold-burnished dell And the mill-side water’s ebb and swell One’s fancy cannot help but dwell on a few histories Imagining, within, the seasonal mysteries Cowbells The few been herded o’er, How the boards did rattle, The frightened, mooing-roar of cattle, Stomping, desperation. And old herder Jim – Yelling, shooing, face beat red. Twas near the end of him. Blizzard I’m limping, all wore out, We’re near a half-mile from home Old covered bridge looked so good. Inside, all was safe, and dry the sure-caulked wood. Outside, the tempest’s blast, high drifts a fright She saved us did old covered bridge that awful night. Spring flood Worst winter folks could remember Storm after storm beginning early November Come March, though, those roiling, boiling clouds abated, Temperature soared, the record heavy fall quickly melted. Old covered bridge, standing high, was tested, belted, Floor washed away, but, in the main, saved those dreadful days. By moonlight I sit, thinking, 3:00 a.m., can’t sleep. Pitch black, but the Moon kisses her silver tiles What phantoms lurk beneath, what secrets does she keep - All those midnight rendezvous, young men’s loving wiles, All the rustic yearnings born of mere, solitary charm, All those fond, romantic plans hatched within her kindling arms.