CONCORD IN APRIL

The road and I meander without apparent purpose.
Dawning images pass.

Now ledge rock, dogwood, crocus and cattail.
Fall's brilliant colors, muted, emerge from the melting snow.
Maple drains. Ready to capture the precious liquid amber.
Elms, stately, elegant, the last to leaf, prepare for joyful explosion.
Crooked stone rows, origin long forgot, mark still boundaries.

Stop by a pond. Ripples, reflections and memories,
Mirroring the sky, and we returning swallows.

I hear the footsteps and ancient voices.
My soul is home.