The Ride

1.

A fine drizzle

fell from the

sky dissolving

into mist houses,

materialized around

her as she drove the

ghost-like barge beside

the road.  Surrounded by

barns, silos, out-buildings,

their colors bleached their

eaves.  Dripping old cars

parked haphazardly about their

yards:  the ground had already

began to appear in places dark,

muddy:  clumps rising like gloved

fists through the snow.  In some

fields there were whole lines of

them marching parallel into the

distance, so deeply hidden by

the fog.

2.

Her tracks were

dark and round:

in the snow one

wobbly line connected

her to reality with

something at the edge

of the road.  There was

an ominous quality to

her view.  The fog even

seemed to deny her retreat

to form a thick gray-white

wall just beyond her imprisioning

Spirit.  Here in the muddy, drenched

field was something from a book of

fairy tales, full of hidden, hardly

mentioned threat and terror.  She

had a particular feeling looking at,

observing it:  something close to fear.