Route 89

It wasn’t like this

When I was here before

Leaving weeks of snow on Boston streets

When winter up ‘til then had seemed so long.

Until I’d got to 89

And hit a stretch of empty road

Of beauty unblocked

Winter’s nasty reputation gone

Now finally naked

Endlessly enticing

A cold thing worth being drawn into

Into its snow light

And its deep and dark evergreens

Close ones and distant ones silhouetted

Like fur upon a sloping mountains’ shoulders

Breathing and moving their own way in time.

No, this time it’s Spring on 89

With beauty still unblocked

But less bare

Covered in new life

Fresh

Like the visions I have

Of building new days.