Driving from Richmond to Bremo

We drive home through tree tunnels
Gray skyroof barely visible
Through green and brown ceiling struts
Green fingered walls, now close, now further,
Yield downward to brown columns
Gray floor with yellow and white accent lines,
Sided with green grasstiles.
We drive home through tree tunnels
Now bright, now shade, now straight, now curved
The tunnels appear and disappear with no warning signs
Yielding to wide pastures, usually
Occasionally a house, rarely a small town
Just once or twice a bridge over a river.
We drive home through tree tunnels
Quietly enclosing us with the news
That she is, or soon will be, dying.

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