Northern Skies

Point the hood of the truck to the north.

North on the Ferry to Woods Hole.

North towards Boston.

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Route 495. Overhead, to the north, are cold weather clouds. The season is changing. Fickle New England weather.

North towards Vermont.

 

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Distant mountains appear.

North where there will be sunrise through an attic window.

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Where a walk nearby beckoned.

 

 

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Sabin’s Pasture, Montpelier, Vermont.

In a field where overhead, sixteen geese flew.

 

 

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More geese follwed these. They filled the sky with honk. 

Then a day came of monochrome grays.

 

 

 

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Forest lake, Woodbury, Vermont

A day of muted sky colors and reflected symmetry.

 

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Somewhere in the Woodbury, Vermont area.

 

The day to leave came.

 

That morning the hood of the truck pointed here and there, passing through Montpelier.

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Weekday rush hour, Montpelier, Vermont. In Montpelier, rush hour pedestrians do not scurry in hurry. No. They amble.

Then appeared a number on a sign.

Eighty-nine.

Eighty-nine headed off, through misty mountains.

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When I was little, I had never seen mountains before. When I was little, when I drew pictures of mountains, they looked like this.

Through misty mountains, eighty-nine headed south.

So did the hood of the truck.

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