Winter Day in Nebraska

I glance out, see the geese 
stitch the sky over Interstate 80 
their ragged, urgent arrows aiming 
somewhere east southeast 
no big deal 
but they keep coming 
prophecies sliding like hieroglyphs 
against a cave wall of grey clouds 
as “I Got the Boy” blares 
on the pickup radio 
reflecting on the passage of time 
without resentment:
“She got the future, I got the past”
and once they’re behind us 
a few miles later 
a herd of Angus cattle trot in unison 
kicking up dust.

Ten miles before the exit to Denver 
my husband notices how 
the wind tugging at us all day 
has died down.

A cemetery appears on cue 
yonder on the side of a hill. 
I can barely detect the granite stones 
in the endless brown grass.
It’s the conifers that catch the eye.
I could count them 
they’re so clear and earnest 
marching in place 
ever greening.