running in the ruts, i locked in my hubs
and turned up a farm road
climbing the mountain -- this kind of country
lifts my spirits, folks living on the land
as they have for eight generations,
proud, capable, and self-reliant -- up i went
because a fire was in my head
vanishing into low clouds, in no hurry
to come down, isolated, beyond reach.
High on the ridge no one knew
the cold rain was falling on me,
the river grinding through the valley
out of sight, a fine place to spend the future,
all of it, but i came down to consider why not.
—with a line by Yeats
