The Commute

Vanessa Walthall - Florida

V:50 I:4 Creative Corner

The Commute

Spring days the old licheny red buds bloom purple

saying WE ARE STILL ALIVE.

A watchful eye over the nitrogenous green pond

catches glimpses of great blues, little blues, cormorants, an alligator. 

Summer afternoons cattle chew their cud

in the shade of sprawling live oaks.

Humid mornings the air is heavy with the dank smell of swine.

An osprey keeps a look out from its nest atop the grain elevator.

Breezy days a sweet acrid smoke drifts across the path

as the beehives are being worked.

Bald cypress and pignut hickory glint gold in the sun.

Fall comes late in Florida. 

Winter mornings the cattle are invisible

blanketed by a cold fog.

They share their pastures with the sandhill cranes

hundreds chortling, probing the soil, dancing.

Home, I open the door

a cat tries to sneak out while a dog propellers her tail and sniffs my pants,

WELCOME HOME!

Who did you meet and treat today?

Most days, six miles, four years becoming a vet, 1200 miles peddled, 

this is my commute.