Migrations By Day

Near the bend of the rosy afternoon rays
and the elbow of tail lights shuffling
through the tall grass of radio towers
and high tension lines rising through
the ebb of tree limbs
announces the trail master, with a huff
and spray, "this way!"

Along the line
each humped beast replies,
with a huff and spray above,
"yes, this way.  This way to home!"
Some mist, some sway, some
trundle along content
to snuffle the footprints before to know
which way.

The turn comes ours and
trunk reared up
the windshield clouds with
washer fluid misting from ahead.
We join in the display
for the ones behind
who may not know.
Thumb into the shower knob,
the wipers go
and purple deicer fluid, unchanged from
the seasons of snow,
fills the air and joins the dust all around
the orange cones of construction
yet to begin.

"Yes this way," hand out of the open window
to cool the day's heat , "yes, this way
to our weekends and home!"