Poem: In the High Ridges

In the High Ridges

You drive along the ridges,
surrounded by high oaks that dwarf
your ancient red truck,
ripe with November's last color,

aware that this is only a respite,
a day of sun wedged
between two long weeks of rain,
a time not to lament the gray horizons

behind and ahead,
but to savor God's gift
of now.

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The picture was taken a couple of weeks ago along the Blue Ridge Parkway south of Roanoke, Virginia. You can click on it to get a larger view, and if you do, you'll see my ancient red truck mentioned in the poem.

Tom