Missing you as I would do,

Letting old acoustic guitar stir awake

Long, slow sweet memories of country driving,

Your voice in my ear, low and husky with sleep

As a quiet counterpoint memory playing accompaniment

While country miles whistle by.

Slipstream wind coasting through an open window,

Coming home to a place I’ve never driven,

But in a primal way it hasn’t been forgotten,

The smell of morning dew on lightly damp earth,

Fresh green and nodding starburst morning glories

On rusted fences, and though I’m driving home,

It’s to you that I want to drive back to, and

There are miles and miles between us,

You’re home to me, the long road back home.

 

in response to the prompt of hour 14