On the Drive

In between two crises of the day (and there

Across from the old Fort Pierce Park
along Indian River Drive.

were maybe three or four before the sun
had set) I opted for the scenic route to take
me home (I knew already) to a bit of drama.
The Drive, we call it here, right on the river.
It was windy, raising whitecaps on the water
that was jade and blue fine silks sewn seamlessly
into a sari for the lady Earth. And as I drove
the Drive my breath grew deeper and my
thoughts slowed down and by the time I made
the western turn, my spirit was somewhat renewed.
If I could live in any spot, it would not be in
some exotic city, nor in a fair and emerald glen
(though I would gladly visit either) but there on
the Drive, not a resident of stately mansion --
too rich for me, I'd be content within the walls
of something small and old, a veteran of many
stormy tracts that traveled through but could not
do its damage. A cozy place, but with a dock,
so we could sit at sunset and reflect on what a joy
it was now that we'd left those crises far behind,
clinking glasses there together under pink and orange
skies, an aging, loving couple celebrating
life there on the Drive.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014