Up the last hill
stretching the chain
then down into the hollow
where the night gathers
clicking up for the down
pressing the pedals for speed
into the gathering coolness
menthol against wet skin
fast over the run
that weaves through the pasture
speckled with buttercups
past fields sprouting corn and the last red barn
with its calico cats ducking into the weeds
silos limned in the glimmerdim.
Leaning then into the sunset
on the last bend
past mailboxes with their flags up
where the road turns to gravel
and coasting at last
into the green peace of the yard
the old farmhouse I've claimed as my own
empty now
but for me and the dog
slapping the porch with her tail
happy I made it home
wet and breathing and alive
and no place I'd rather be
for as long as there is.
