H E A D I N G D OWN THE BAR NE S ROAD HIL L I N A N T R I M CO U NT Y Shelley B. Smithson The car climbs up the sandy dirt road Making its way to the crest of the hill On an August evening that spills golden filtered light Through every pore of the summer heat. In the rear view mirror, a reflection of Lapis blue streaked with innocent clouds is seen Behind me, casting me into A moment of suspension in a celestial well of peace. Then through the windshield in front of me The verdant vista comes into view, earth rejoining sky Lush tones of green.
The forest green of the tamaracks, The hushed green of the blue spruce, The yellow green of the blowing grasses in fields
Undulating with a quiet hope you can feel when you hear the colors Whistling in the wind. The large hill descends into smaller hills cascading towards Grand Traverse Bay. The sun sears a path of light on the water as the shoreline draws near Leading to the purple and mauve and orange and rose Of a western sky ignited with promise that tomorrow is coming, Perhaps even before the end of today.
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