The road rises and falls ahead of me,
Dusty gray asphalt shouldered by the
Pale burnt orange of summer grass
That whispers dryly as I pass.

Down the center of the road between the pines,
I notice how the mustard double lines
Match the nodding goldenrod and
Black-eyed Susans that stand

Tall along the highway’s brink.
Lowering my window just a chink,
I hear the squeak of a bird nearby
And spot a squirrel scratching in the grass, tail arched high.

Poet Notes: When I observe the world with my poet’s cap donned, I find I engage more of my senses and remember moments in time with a vividness that is hard to capture for mundane moments like this one.  After all, how often do you remember seeing a specific squirrel or hearing a bird squeaking in the bushes while you’re driving by?  A few jotted words were all it took to bring back this memory, though, with almost the same color and charm as when I experienced it the first time.  And that is but one beauty of a poem.