I turn left
technically south
onto Timothy Road five mornings a week
usually greeted by a bright sun, blue skies, lowering my visor so as not to be
temporarily blinded
crash
hurt another soul
I ease along the road toward home
36 miles an hour, maybe 37—my act of cruise controlled rebellion against recent
speed changes
This is a place I’m growing to love more and more
for what reason aside from Target being four minutes from my doorstep
I don’t know exactly
I do know I am here, I am settled settling—it’s a process
But this morning
it’s unsettling slightly—just ever so—to turn south
onto Timothy Road and not be greeted by the bright startling sun, but
by grey skies and rain and rain and more rain
The rain will continue
for days
The ground will drink, guzzle;
some spaces
will over
flow
Growth will be beautiful yet
sad because
it is but January
The plants are deceived
The poor buds
They are mislead
And here I turn
down Timothy Road toward home
full of sweat and joy and gratitude and peace and anticipation
The day is no fool
The hours don’t speed along with the false Spring
There are no premature seconds in bloom
I trust the clock
And its Maker
Waiting with hope for the pieces of the day that are yet to unfold
