Rutted Road

The ruts lead to the river
Dusty red amid golden rabbit
Brush, wind carrying the scent
Of decay in bloom, purple 
Asters and the last of the red
Paintbrush. The ruts lead to the 
River.

The ruts lead to the river
Past standing columns of slanted
Old stone looming over cat-tails
In the moist receptive ground
Of the sacred spring.
Old places overgrown with trees
Old trees pulled down by time
Time in its never ending flow
Rain flowing down the dry ruts
To the river.
The ruts lead to the river.