Winter was rife with trickery; sporting a new kind over and over this year. Once again, believing that life this side of Heaven lasts forever proved a false path; lies and subterfuge.
This brief February moment in the sun would not last the drive’s duration as I bumped along River Road. I passed over a number of potholes filled haphazardly as though the department of transportation saw them, took note and hesitated, then rallying around for a brief moment of good will, made an effort to literally smooth things over with cheap gravel and an unsteady hand. I give these dips in the tarmac about a week.
Some of the fields along the drive looked freshly turned over, glazing like melted caramel in the tricky sun. The bales of stacked hay far in the distance stood caramelized and stiff in the cold. They will soon turn powder sugar white and all butter-creamy before long. The weather is all smoke and mirrors this year. The ground is confused; denied a lengthy, rich sleep this winter and it shows in her complexion; all the wrong color of dried brown and old green and new white.
There is a large hawk sitting in the field on a mound of dirt facing west; feathers moving gently in the wind. He’s watching and listening for the slight of hand.
I drive on and then on the right side of the bumbly road rests a bright green overstuffed couch with one missing cushion. Tricks and lies. The furniture truck must have stopped on a whim and the driver and partner clambered out and sat down in the middle of the field to watch for more tomfoolery. It’s all out there today amidst sun, flora and fauna, falderals and the fast approaching storm. It’s all a big fooly fa la.
I’m driving slowly this winter.
690 Saint Paul 