Old Dusty and the Return

Wild wind blows across the porch
Leaves wander and run away
The trees sway
Everything I pick up either has rust or dust on it
Colors fade
The sky is in a dull color
Invisible chickens run around
Looking for one more worm
Conspiracy is on the step
I plunder my mailbox in search of packages
Packages of Christmas and birthdays
A train seems to be coming
Birds fly for hours
The moon waits 
And the fireplace burns wood
What a strange season. 

Tomorrow We Will Arrive in Nacogdoches

Nights of silent moon
Let me see the trees
Far across the fields
My mind makes images
Far off shadows.
Wagons creak down a mud trodden road
Without light but the moon
Like a filtered sun
Shadow light guides us
Down the road to the creek
We must make camp now
Tomorrow we will arrive in Nacogdoches.