It’s quieter here
In this simple place
Where we stare at the sky
And count the rabbits
Fluffing their tails.
The grass grows greener
When it’s neighed at,
Not honked.
The rhythms of scratches
Of dead leaves dancing
Across the lonely road
Stretching between
Gilman and Medford
Must give hints to the wind
Of deafening snow.
We’ll settle here in silence,
By and by.