The prelude came
as insidious rain
gently washing away
the sailing trip.
Instead, we drove
up the mountain,
following a tinny tip
from a nicked, bent
realtor’s sign;
the metal split
and worn.
Amid drifts of gold grass
that waved and bowed,
we stretched our limbs.
The trees were tinted
red and gold,
vivid against the cold grey sky.
Your eyes glowed
as we fixed ourselves
to this land.

Prompts: Wordle 70 and Writer’s Digest (write about a change of plans).


23 thoughts on “Detour

  1. This reminds me of my childhood weekends when we would all pile in the car (and not worry about just taking a drive) from the city and head to a weekend in the country. The closest I’ve gotten is suburbia. In SW Pennsylvania one doesn’t have to go far to see farms, Amish or otherwise. It is hard to see some of that open space vanish, but there is a fairly good farm preservation program here. A nice vignette to get lost in on a ho-hum Sunday afternoon.

    I’m here:

  2. oh – this poem has a tinge of faerie to me..drifts of gold grass; golden and red trees against the cold sky – loved that contrast. thank you for sharing~

  3. This was a song so beautifully crafted – each phrase moving the reader through a well designed and finely painted landscape both real and emotional and the tie at the end larger than the landscape…deeper than the roots of trees…the tie to land that is yours to write history upon.

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