I've been here before,
when icicles crusted dimmed headlights
cutting through the milky fog of midnight.
In the darkness, life becomes impossible
to see, existence defined by lines --
white on the right, yellow center, dotted, solid.
Spring brings growth, fawns spotted
marshmallow cream, calves to graze
the stubble of windswept fields.
But seasons nor daylight can change
Idaho's essence. Eyes closed, I feel the vast horizon --
an endless plateau of desolate possibilities.
The moon slips through clouds,
centers itself on the long stretch of freeway
before me. Beyond it lies a landscape
inconsistent, rugged with narrow canyons
water rapid. I drive toward the flicker of light,
waiting for the first sign that contrast
is more than the moon's illusion.
~Kelly Spitzer