I’m no good at route numbers, never sure of east
or south, but I know this road by seasons, by landmarks
memorized the last time I traveled this way.
If you still want me, just head away from the city,

keep an eye out for meadows of bold blue and yellow —
bachelor buttons, wild mustard. Cross the rusted iron bridge
that will lead you to a crossroad —
turn left and keep going until
you see a stand selling Tender Spring Peas and
an orchard of peach trees beyond their bloom. Take your time

as you roll through the old mill town
where elderly men in suspenders and felt hats
doze on planked benches. Wave as you drive by.
You’ll pass beneath a thick canopy of elms, and then

there will be a Mennonite farm (yellow siding and pine-
green shutters) with a misspelled sign that offers
Saw Sharpning. You might see some deer in the field.

After that, it’s straight on until the road dead-ends
to a graveled lane. Drive as far as it takes you,
park right beside the house.
I’ll be on the crooked swing,
rocketing skyward and back, skyward and back,            
my eyes on the cove, watching
bald eagles query the river.                        
I’ll be waiting for you.

© by Gail Braune Comorat.
Used with the author's permission.