Autumn walk along Goosenest

Beautiful autumn afternoon

on sun touched mountains.

Smoggy valley far from my lungs,

a day for a walk to school

along a winding lane I often drive.

Thinking of my uncle

large and loud,

sandy haired goatee,

twinkling eyes with the heart of a child.

Off in Moab

without my family and me

scraping thick black tread

over gold sandstone obstacles,

bouncing a 1956 hand-maintained

Jeep through desert marvels.

Always venturing never a worry.

Today I'll do the same.

Kick off with a joke

crack a smile

crack the stress.

Down the tight steep hills

of my childhood home

open fields of sunflowers in bloom

choked with tares

and cockleburs

that stick to your shoes

past my old friend's house

before he was homeschooled

and became a jerk

brown siding imitating a cabin

and green metal roofing glimmering

a complex large in its supposed humility.

The warm sun

leaking over mountains and hills

glazed in shrub oak

loom over cherry orchards

hugged on each side

neat rows of tailored trees

picked clean, pruned, for the

death of autumn.

Along this goose neck lane

a towel sits on black baked asphalt

then a toy, yellow and cracked

debris from shards of glass to rubber tire chunks

then the Jeep

a heap of red twisted metal.

Across the narrow bridge

barely two lanes girth

there's his RV,

1980's cream yellow,

brown and orange pinstripes,

tires mangled

sides bludgeoned

a steel carcass blocking

my way to school.

I hurry to the door

wrench open the main cabin

cousin Annie sits on the stairs

rocking back-and-forth

blood, red as an Indian Paintbrush's kiss,

down her temple

holding her Barbie

hair a blond tangled mess

but that eternal plastic smile.

Up to the cab

steam from the engine

a confetti of tempered glass

crunches under foot

open the door

and my uncle sits

pillow to his stomach

soaked and stained

entrails held by the pressure of his arms

cradling and rocking

weeping

sobbing

Uncle Paul what happened?

I shouldn't have walked to school.

Because now I'm late and have detention.