Scene from the Road

The early snowmelt seeps into the low seams of the fields,

a sinuous sheen of slate blue weaving through a rolling sea of white

Islands of elm, oak, and birch, leafless, cast long shadows across the late winter snow

Cattle huddle around bales of hay, breath freezing into frost

A weathered, peeling barn is quiet, and a rusting combine lies idle

A silo stands watch over the outwash plains of east central Minnesota

A waning moon hangs low over the horizon,

and a distant white steeple is the first to catch the straw-colored light of dawn

Wisps of charcoal smoke rise straight and silent in the chill,

from a low-slung house at the end of the drive

Outside in the yard, the sodium light mounted on top of a wooden pole switches off,

and I wonder, what illumination comes from within?