Drove the twisting road,

wound blind curves,

to somewhere once called home-

a place sweetness and tragedy meet,

a location of extremes.

Towering oaks with lobed leaf arch

toward golden grass whose seed heads nod,

obscuring the path bobcat walks.

Sky,

in blueness or star,

remains sharp.

Flies enter nose and ears,

fiery poison oak berries.

Frost will make its claim,

will lay this landscape bare.

Returning marks a turning.

The hole I’ve fallen in,

with earthen walls solid and cool,

holds today’s bones and muscle.

Eyes train upward,

restful,

knowing, this time, the visit

washes memories out

without carrying me away.