Photo by Dusty Hopkins
Return
By Fred Berger
Once again,
The long drive south.
Fall colors, faded now
And dimmed by rain and fog
Are left behind.
The cold recedes. These aging bones
Warm in the mid-Atlantic sun.
I-95’s a strident cacophony
Of traffi c noises;
A blur of monster trucks
And speeding, passing cars;
Too many McDonalds, cheap motels
And garish billboards.
We hurry by them.
Georgia brings a lesser country road.
This is deep south, rural;
Small towns, 30 mile an hour speed traps;
In between, crumbling farm shacks,
Abandoned trucks, scrub pines, sand
And peach and peanut stands.
Then the long-awaited sign,
“Welcome to Florida” and I-75.
Orlando and Disney beckon.
It’s hot now, asphalt shimmers.
The rest stops are full of “snowbird” cars,
Piled high with bikes and boxes.
Inside, eager faces smile expectantly.
One more fast food break;
One more gas up
And then, at last,
Our island toll booth is a door
That opens to another world.
Serene and safe and oh, so lovely.
We are home again.
Photo by Dusty Hopkins