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
“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