ARRIVAL

by Gwen Austin

Copyright 1997

Detour here, error there.
Laconic Yankee's jest,
"You can't get there from here,"
Seemed all too true.
But we prevailed 
on our drive from Boston airport
until finally we wended our way up
 our cow-paths road.

Key retrieved from hidden peg,
door unlocked and flung wide.
We have arrived.
Our New Hampshire hilltop spirit home 
enfolds us.

We tumble to bed at 4 a.m.
to awaken with sunrise
for a peek at 'the view.'
Who put a pillowing snowfield there?
Where are the distant blue hills?
Where is the glinting Connecticut River?

As coffee perks, then steams
in hand-warming cups,
we watch, transfixed.
Sun's magic whisks away the fog.
New England's autumn
blazes before us in kleidoscopic array.