I must make it memorable by recording, lest I forget or lose the
moment that came back so very sweet like a smile and surprised my end of the day bland and fatigued mind.
I took the road less trafficked because it was a late meeting and Spring, deciding not to be Spring, it wasn’t quite ready after all.
Had me bitter, cold, annoyed and hurrying towards home for the sake of day being done at last.
A late, long day, change to save daylight and winter’s harsh unwelcome return on a Tuesday night.
I drive, exhausted and cold. Blank.
The drifting, mind unfocused, eyes on the road ahead.
The sky, navy blue and the street granite gray, I catch a swirling spark,
In the periphery of my blue eye.
Bright and red, orange, gold and silvery white…the colors spread in a puddleon the street as the car ahead eases on.
Then I remember and remember sweetly well.
The place I sat in the back, looking at the road behind the long black station wagon late at night we always travelled.
My daddy “cracked the window” the cold air came in and touched my cheek.
I waited to see the flicker of the ashes, the bright sparks from the flame as daddy dropped the butt, gingerly his finger flicked as we floated down the road.
Back to grandma’s, from Carolina, north to Georgia, Bulloch.
Going home for Christmas.
I leaned to press my face against cold of winter window and my eyes saw the moon as it followed us back home.
Sparks flying up and the
Moon following me. I said it followed us all the way and daddy let me believe it so.