08-31-2015, 01:09 PM
Route 9 to Harper’s Ferry
On a summer night like this the road is made for driving,
as a Shenandoah moon burns orange on the horizon.
A “welcome home” aroma, greetings from a country fair;
funnel cakes, cotton candy, honeysuckle sweetened air.
As crickets click and clitter on discordant singing saws,
old bull frogs belch and bellow deep mud puddle mating calls.
Thick, translucent mist is spun, like a web upon the fields;
in eerie silence spider-lightning crawls across the clouds.
On a country road like this the night is made for driving,
as summer blurs the distance, between leaving and arriving.
On a summer night like this the road is made for driving,
as a Shenandoah moon burns orange on the horizon.
A “welcome home” aroma, greetings from a country fair;
funnel cakes, cotton candy, honeysuckle sweetened air.
As crickets click and clitter on discordant singing saws,
old bull frogs belch and bellow deep mud puddle mating calls.
Thick, translucent mist is spun, like a web upon the fields;
in eerie silence spider-lightning crawls across the clouds.
On a country road like this the night is made for driving,
as summer blurs the distance, between leaving and arriving.