A Free Verse Poem
All the spent brush littering the hillside to the right,
mostly brown to the left as well,
railroad tracks not far behind, hidden by the slopes.
“I swear it’s beautiful in the spring.”
Those warmer temperatures are here, but not the green growth,
not the rain, either, though the forecast predicted precipitation.
The downpour must be waiting for something.
Down the path and back again,
back to the car,
semi-enclosed but with windows down.
Sitting, staring ahead.
Beauty exists on both sides of the windshield.
So does life.
So does hope.