Poem: Along a November Treeline

Snow cold road

Snaked between hillsides

Muddied with sleet

Rocks ice-slick

Sky close, tumbling into blue

Sun edging

Along a November treeline.

I was singing my way down

Singing and old hymn

The kind meant to carry

From hollow to hollow

Hollered in joy

Snapping into day

Sharp on the vowels

And stepping up, then down

Before sliding

Along final notes.

Trading one set of mountains

For another

Because of a third.

Because of eleven days

Of cold

Howling winds like freight-trains

Of rain

Water pitchered from the sky

Of hawks

Careening

Calling me from there

To …

Not yet

Here.