The turn signal ceases its

systematic flashing as the

emerald green Kia abandons I-94.

Mind jumbled like an unsolved

word search, I pluck bobby pins

out of my top-knot and tug on

C.K. Catering apron strings.

The headlights pierce the

pothole-speckled road.

Coated with evaporating rain, the

SUV trudges through Stevensville.

Deserted,

except for the occasional passerby.

Dark,

besides the infrequent street lamps.

Silent,

other than the cicadas nightly chant.

Indie acoustics and the soft hum

of the engine create harmonies as

sugar maple trees lined along the bluff

sway to the rhythm.

Above the moon roof, trees sway –

waving their branches and

gifting me orange, red, and yellow leaves.

An assortment of clutter –

“bear wear” from football games, notebooks branded

by the LMC logo, and worry –

piles in the passenger seat.

Discarding school supplies, sweatshirts, and

stress like autumn leaves,

I toss these items to the backseat

and focus on the road ahead.