A long, slow climb
Followed by a steady descent
Passing older homes and new
Some grand, for some beaten by time.
I came to a sign that read
No Outlet.
As I peddled, smooth pavement becomes country dirt
Marred with tracks of car and hoof.
A deer crosses just ahead.
Corralled fields, a large red barn
Horses strolling about.
At the very end, an old farm house.
Red clap boards, white shutters, and a picket fence.
Flower gardens,
Neatly trimmed lawns,
Stone walkways and walls.
The road cut into the side of the hill
Falling off to the right, stretches a large field
Leading out to a line of trees.
Beyond that forest and rolling hills
The sun settling high enough
To say it’s going to be a hot day.
The farm was flying a Betsy Ross flag.
If it wasn’t for the dish on the roof
Or the utility lines
I could have sworn I’d slipped through time.
Gone were the traffic sounds,
No planes or jet contrails crossed the sky.
A hawk circled high above.
Birds filled the field and trees,
Their songs filling the air.
I stood there listening,
The sun on my face,
A light breeze,
I began to think of what led me here
No Outlet.
I was true, I could travel no further.
But I was able to travel through time
I now ride here most mornings
It has become my outlet from the noise of my day.
Dave Gray
