High in the Sierra the Interstate
\ncuts its own course above the dry creek bed,
\nits swerves matching the mountain sides
\nwhere math and matter marry to carve
\nthe slopes I speed along, marvelling
\nat the mileage I make until, below,
\nI catch sight of a strip of buckled asphalt,
\nremnant of a turnpike no longer on the map.
\nThis is how we age. Steep crests once
\nground up laboriously in low gear are
\nblasted into empty air. One highway
\nreplaces another. Weeds take root
\nin the cracks of the thoroughfare leading
\nnowhere. Above, traffic moves swiftly on.<\/p>\n
***<\/span> \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n High in the Sierra the Interstate cuts its own course above the dry creek bed, its swerves matching the mountain sides where math and matter marry to carve the slopes I speed along, marvelling at the mileage I make until, below, I catch sight of a strip of buckled asphalt, remnant of a turnpike no … <\/p>\n
\nOdd for me to realize\u00a0that I wrote the first version almost thirty years ago, beating a retreat\u00a0back to Canada on the I-5 somewhere near Mount Shasta. \u00a0An instance of what we might call\u00a0<\/em>sen\u012blis praecox.\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n