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.