Driving at Dusk

The road stretches out ahead,
diving down an Ozark hill
only to jut upward in the distance,
a far-off gash in the horizon
covered in all directions
by a landscape of trees
still clinging to the last of their adornments
against certainty of winter departure.
A fiery mix of gold and orange and pink
hovers just above in the frigid November sky,
compressed by the purple descent of night.

And as I navigate the landscape,
I thank the trees and the night sky
for reminding me that ends are necessary
if we desire to know new beginnings.