The Road

As I go through my recently passed wife’s belongings, I find an old photograph of a dirt road
I pick it up and gaze at the two dimensional image which seems to shift before my eyes, becoming more
The scene reaches out and invites me to come with it on a path to glory and contentment – to utter peace
I pleasantly fall into the frame  – into all of my days past – where a summer sun brilliantly crowns the long grass that lines the way
The road cuts through rich fields that drape the earth’s crust, softening the landscape for as far as the eye can see
I bump along in an old jalopy, listening to the lazy chirping of crickets when I hear singing
I see others on their way to a celebration and I fall in line
Dust in the air and the sounds of laughter
Food for all – plenty
Swimming and children playing – a picnic of ghosts
As the day ends, sun touching the horizon, a chilly breeze scatters leaves and revelers as warm homes and beds beckon
A tired orange globe sets fire to the cloud stirred up by the wheels of the jalopy
Every revolution grinds our story into the earth, marking our passage
I glance behind me to see a fading image of myself holding the photograph – then it flickers and is gone
I turn to my wife and smile
On that road, on that summer evening, crickets chirping, heading home