In the sticks where I can’t get
cable & internet is unreliable
it’s natural–inevitable–to turn
to AM radio when you are bored
& want something to happen.

I stumble on a call-in show
for selling tractors, pigs
rabbits, gravel & consider
buying a scoop of Chattanooga
Red gravel or a Blue

Heeler pup. I switch
the dial to Bluegrass Sunrise
on WBLU where old-timey
twang blasts with high
harmonies & runaway

mandolin. Do you want
to go home? Why are you so
alone? the lead singer
belts. I can’t answer. I’ve roamed
city & farm with a restlessness,

a twirling mind like a shiny
baton. No matter, an inner
voice hums. Just breathe
Watch curvy fields morph
from baby green to bronze

stubble. The welcoming hay
harvest will come & come again
with light coatings of December
now on the naked maples. Returning
seasons mature me like wind

& rain beat down boulder & slate
into sediment & sand. I notice the high tenor,
the three-part harmonies soaring
as I make the practical spiritual choice
& order the Chattanooga Red.