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Just off the highway that leads home I run the gauntlet between these beauties every day in my car.  They swish back and forth and make a satisfying thwack-thwack-thwack in protest as I drive through them, often leaving delicate yellow petals on my car windshield and hood.

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If I pause on the tiny wooden bridge leading onto the property and look to the south this is what I see.

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Where the drive makes a hairpin turn it crosses another rapid stream

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and continues.  And just when I begin to wonder whether I will at last arrive,

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there it is.  Home again.

2 thoughts on “Home again.

    1. It is perfect; might be humming a different tune in March–time will tell. BTW: cannot tell you how many times your phrase about being that Vermont woman with a goat in the car has made me giggle (and of course I am paraphrasing).~D

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