I was five then, as we crowded around
the black and white TV,
watching patterns on a blank screen labeled
THIS IS JUST A TEST.
When the high-pitched drone became unbearable,
we reluctantly switched it
Now we have
color and vexing bands
of text endlessly scrolling
their mindless confusion.
of nonstop “entertainment”
only beware: turning it Off becomes
an inner, as well as outer process.
Pausing alongside that drive
well traveled by others living worlds
apart from where I am today,
the ghost of a little girl riding a blue Schwinn
steams by in vaporous hues;
streamers plugging handlebars,
playing cards clipped between spokes.
Gazing up, a single red-tailed hawk
soars above the din.
Rejoicing in cloudless flight
is something I long ago learned from its kin.
Pulling the rental car into gear,
wheels headed now for gravel roads.