Down The Clay Plant Road
It was a warm August day
as I drove down the Clay Plant Road.
The sun’s rays darted
through the lush Pennsylvania foliage
as a gentle breeze cooled
the pepper seasoned air.
It was almost dark
in the middle of the day
as I made my way
through the dense leafed tunnels.
The still green leaves hadn’t submitted
to the approaching seasonal change.
I scanned the road ahead
for a lingering deer
pausing in the middle of the road;
a hopping rabbit,
or leaping frog,
bound for the road’s other side.
These, along with other forest creatures,
are common distractions
along northern country roads.
From within the afternoon shadows,
a dark bridled workhorse
marched towards me,
his head held high,
strong and proud.
His steady gait dancing
to the rhythm of
an unheard autumn song.
Behind him,
seated within the shadow
of a plain black wagon,
was an old Amish gentleman,
his eyes focused straight ahead,
his gray beard flowing in the wind.
In his black coat and hat,
he blended into the wagon’s depth,
lost somewhere between
yesterday and the distant past.
It was one of those moments
that I wished I had my camera,
but didn’t.
It would have been
a beautiful photograph
added to the many others
lost somewhere between the covers
of rarely viewed photo albums.
Instead it burned into my memory,
etched in the gallery of my mind.
I lifted my hand as we passed,
an offer of a friendly wave hello.
The old gentleman
nodded his head in return
as he continued on his way
and I continued on mine.
Bill Work © 2007