for what's there?

the cold pushes

you inside, your

hands stiff,

your face brushed red

with wind.

the leaves dance

in crazy circles.

the branches bend

and bend and bend.

clouds

stream by.

the low sun

does nothing to warm

you up

so you cut the day

short.

you put the tools away.

you set the ladders

aside.

maybe you'll head for

home or

maybe not, for what's there?

maybe you'll

fill up the tank and go,

just drive.