I come to a halt near the dirt road.
I am driving my freshly waxed truck,
yet for the first time since November,
the dirt has appeared like an old forgotten picture randomly stumbled upon.
I have become accustomed to the snow covered trails,
as white as a bright shining light
that leave only the residue of only salt and water
But yet again I now have to worry about the mud
the mud that appears everywhere.
When I step out of my car,
you can find it on the back of my jeans,
on the inside of my door,
even on my backpack.
But I don’t mind,
because the dirt roads are like a sanctuary in my mind.
A sanctuary that always leads me back to where I came from.
The dirt roads that have carried me through late night drives
when I am too wired to sleep.
The dirt roads that keep me grounded,
always bringing me back home
when I stray too far.