On
a certain sort of day
I
get the urge
To
travel.
Oh,
not the elegant "Travel"
You
read about in books–
But
just getting in the car
And
going someplace.
The
sort of day I'm thinking of
Is
just an ordinary day–
With
a light breeze,
Not
too hot nor cold,
A
few clouds in the sky–
The
sort of a day
You
might see any place.
In
Hannibal, Missouri,
Where
Mark Twain played;
In
green Kentucky,
Where
Dan'l Boone stayed;
Down
in Phoenix,
Viewing
a purple hill;
Up
in the mountains,
Where
it's calm and still.
I
enjoy being the tourist and
Seeing
famous sights.
But
my greatest pleasure lies
In
the going.
I
like to see cattle grazing
On
the hills;
The
cluster of buildings that
Mean
a farm;
The
houses, sometimes old and charming,
Sometimes
ranch-type modern,
And
some just ordinary houses.
I
notice little groves of trees
I'd
love to picnic under;
Or
tiny cliffs and boulders
On
fascinating little hills
I'd
love to climb.
In
the towns
There
are all kinds of houses,
Small,
large, and in-between,
Where
all kinds of people,
Small,
large, and in-between,
Live
and work and play. |
Odors
Are
part of the enjoyment of the day:
The
fleeting fragrance of a little garden;
The
damp smell of a little creek;
The
earthy scent of a fresh-plowed field;
And
the whiff of a hamburger and pickle
From
that little café.
As
the highway comes to a city,
I
can feel the pace quicken:
More
cars, more houses–
The
bustling begins.
There's
an excitement
About
a city;
Shops,
stores, malls, crowds,
Parks,
stop-lights, caution signals;
Culture
and poverty intermingled.
And
then–the suburbs,
And
peace again descends.
The
sort of day I'm thinking of
Is
the sort that makes
Ordinary
things
Seem
"pretty nice."
It
brings out a certain
Peaceful
glow
That
almost glorifies.
I
suppose that Abe Lincoln
Felt
its influence in Illinois–
I
know I have.
Probably
Ike felt it in Abilene–
I
did.
If
Dakota's pioneers felt it,
They
forgot their harsh winters.
And
on the hills of Cincinnati
I
know her founders felt it–
Why
else call her "Queen"?
To
top a Kansas hill
and
look out miles away
Over
a long ribbon of highway
That
reaches on to a distant rise,
With
fields and pasture-land
Stretching
in every direction,
Gives
me such a feeling–
I
can't describe
How
it makes me feel–
Almost...as
if I owned it all.
–Copyright 1971-2016, Marjorie Seaton Marshall |
