October Road

The morning highway crisps

Through the late fall fields,

Rich red flickering boldly

At the edge of the rimy woods.

Dappled cows, flanks close

And steamy, breathily pull hay

From the leaning ricks stacked

High in a frosted field.

Bundled on a rocky hillside

Fat sheep tuck their feet

Under grey woollen vests

And stare at each other.

As the wan sun glides chill

Over the quarry pool the deep

Black water shrugs the thinning

Fog off its splintered shoulders.

Legion along the brittle ditches

Twisted milkweed stalks spit

Their silken froth from cracked

October throats.

Behind arthritic fences huge horses

Patiently crop their hoary pasture and

A gangly colt sprints madly across the

Grizzled meadow, brilliantly excited.

Suddenly, a pick-up whizzes by my car,

The driver peering at me quizzically.

Another horn honks impatiently.  I realize

I have been creeping along, mesmerized.

Cynthia Buell Thomas