Snapshot

Big skies call me and I dream of

landscapes whizzing by with the shutter wide open

My heart thumping like a hesitant drummer

I never wonder what is at the end of the journey

 It's what fills the landscape as I move through changing scenes:

Tall matted grass

Broad fields with tractor lines and baled hay

Tiny flowers in the foreground I squint to see and cannot name

Gray brown buildings with slack boards, light streaming through

Slanted shifting shadows

Sometimes a rusted tractor with weedy tendrils woven through its wheels

holding it in place

or

Dense woods with speckled sun that tiptoes through

Taut, mossy trunks holding thick boughs with wide leaves 
bend over time
  and dead, dried trees with creaking branches that reach like old men

 pointing their arthritic fingers toward the sky, perhaps unwilling

to quit, hoping that the light and drenching rain

will keep them awake just a little longer