Before me was the winding two lane road dipping and curving gently
through the countryside. There were rounded hills which sometimes
pushed close to shoulder the road, nudge it, guide it along near the
stony-floored creeks, in the distance wetlands, and everywhere the
I loved them, great, powerful, aged, wonders in their forms and colors
and sizes and smells. One split-trunked magnificent example spread its
snaggy branches over a dip in the road. Sun fell through it exquisitely.
I admit my eyes lingered on its hugeness and its spread as I approached,
were on it and stayed on it as soon as I saw it there at the edge of the road
with a red cow beyond a wire fence. And then the old turquoise pickup
scarred with rust rounded a curve and took all the road weaving wildly.