Road Music With Trees in Spring: Quatrina
By Twyla M. Hansen
Through mist we scan along fences and trees
for hawks, tallying them, game on the road
to pass the time — that, and the rock music
that blasts out loud, pushes us closer to spring.
They eye us from posts, signs, limbs of scrub trees:
the red–tailed hawks returning in near–spring.
They lift and loop in the sky’s blue. The road
curves along. We sing out loud to music.
Years before, the game was slug–bug on road
trips with our young son and his loud music,
the miles flying, his face fresh, hawks and trees
blurred. The season always seemed to be spring.
Now in autumn, I travel the lone roads
through trees. My grown son is still all music.