Taking the Turns at Forty

Driving north on Highway 3,

half naked trees take my eyes

around the curves of cold

asphalt and yellow center

lines.

My dream house is just

around the bend. I know

it. It is the place I live,

finally, with the deep

contentment of a satisfied

lover. You laugh. You sigh.

"You're the One that I Want"

comes up on the dial, as I

search for a voice to ground

me. I listen for a while, but

it only makes me incredulous

that I am now forty years old.

I was just listening to that very

song over and over on my

portable turntable, the one that

was self-contained in its own

orange plastic suitcase. I bought

the Grease soundtrack in vinyl

with my very own money. I

couldn't wait to grow up and

discover a Danny-like mate.

Life, however, is happening

along and I switch channels

again to Minnesota Public

Radio's classical station, playing

the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra

and Cantus in concert. It is a Franz

Schubert piece; music set to a 

Goethe poem.  "Gesang der Geister 

über den Wassern" The haunting 

German better suits my forty-

year old self.

I return to dreaming about my

"it" house, just around the

bend, where I will live out

my days among the trees,

right here off Highway 3.