Rain rutted and potholed, our dirt road refuses convenience. Pressed rock ebbs and flows against shouldered banks of piled leaves wet with the smell of fall. Narrowed by reaching branches wrapped in thorn-thick vines and choked by climbing ivy, the road feels left behind. 

It begins broken. Crumbled by tires hitting the canyoned mix of dirt and rock cut deep by rain. A moonscape pocked with craters. Trucks bang their way, exploding puddled water, tools clanging in metal beds, cabs jarring side to side. Cars serpentine, brake lights blinking. Walkers step for higher ground.

Puddles mirror sky. Fallen leaves ambered in still water reflect bare branches against drifting clouds. Single drops of rain drip heavy from sagging leaves, plunge into puddles, and ripple rings to ever-widening shores.

Tires bite at loosened stone: graveled orchestras. Hands on wheel, eyes ahead, brake foot ready. Slow is the only way forward. Tale lights glow, then slump and rise, moving from shore to shore through mud puddled water. 

The road swallows everything – light, sound, leaves, branches, stones – a nest of cast offs woven for the weight of travel. 

Rocking back and forth conjures memory. The dirt driveway of childhood. Walks with the dog. The neighborhood without sidewalks or street lights where children played after dark. The smell of burning leaves. The taste of pie made with apples picked and carried home. A kettle whistling for tea. The crack and spark of pine stacked and lit in circled stones. Nights cold enough for coats and hats, but not for mittens. Improvisation – piano, plucked bass, haunting horn – played before a sky draped in sunset.

So much given. A soft start and quiet end to every run. Family walks shoulder to shoulder. Unhurried visits to the mailbox. The neighbor stopped, window down, to say hello. Barefoot months for summer feet. Snow covered days for boots with insulation. Rainy afternoons with puddles overrun, leaving narrow bridges of high ground for crossing. The sound of being home.

The promise of rest: shoes off, feet up, soft seat. Motionless at last. Miles of paved road and hours of travel done. Our landing strip of dirt, an unpaved ending, disruptive and refusing the compromises of convenience.