These winding roads –
Where each driver greets you with a nod 
And a two-fingered wave from the steering wheel
Are the same roads where
Motorists hang corners
And make tires squeal
These rural routes grant us entrance
Onto familiar gravel driveways
And into fields
Filled with fragrant hay

These pathways

Where neighbors sit on porches 
That lead us into towns
Are the lanes which roll over 
And wind ’round –
Bluegrass hills and fence rows
Through equestrian wonderlands
To rusty trailer homes and junkyard lawns
Where mechanics work with calloused hands
Where vehicles slide in snow in winter
And pray they don’t collide
Where dogs ride in farmers’ truck beds
To later frolick in pastures 
With plenty of places to hide
Where farming implements crawl 
And thrill-seeking drivers fly
Where the possum, skunk, and deer cross
And along winsome paths
Natives take Sunday drives
These passages lined with weeds 
And the sweet scent of a honeysuckle breeze
Are the curvy paths
Which unveil mysteries
Around each bend
Cutting through forests and limestone 
To find a friend 
These are the roads that lead me home