• GENERAL •
Four in the afternoon. 10 degrees near sunset.
Where we park at Governor Nelson
only day old tire tracks circle
the thin stiff snow around the parking lot
but no other cars.
We open the doors and they crack
like old bones, stiff and heavy,
and complain at having to get out
in this cold snap one more time for God’s sake.
The prairie across the road
for the moment still tall and golden under the last
long canvas of sunshine retreating
behind the flat cornfields fading west.
Big bluestem seems to lean our way in resignation.
Night has come again for its gold blades,
collars and sheaths like a thief
invited in by the gnarled black oaks.