The sun was shining behind me in the morning

June 19, 2005  (I was 60)

The sun was shining behind me in the morning.

I drove the wagon down the dim low spot in the road.

What rains had been were not here now.

The descent was not steep, the shade was cool,

the mud not deep, I tracked us steadily through.

The sun promised itself on the slope ahead,

warmed our backs; sweat beaded our hair.

Forward the bright inclination soon glared in our eyes.

The wheels threw dirt then clay; the hillcrest lay in shadow.

We got stuck in my ignorance; the sun is setting.

The path behind is golden, our destination dark.

It’s a cool despondent night of frustration and fear.

With cold resignation we gather wood for fire,

eat canned food with plenty to drink.

The stars perforate our thoughts with light,

recognition of our comparative good fortune and a plan

to push the wagon to higher ground at dawn.