The Plainsman
Henry Gunderson

Aye. No other travelers in sight.
The plains both empty and alive rolled expansive.

Rubber had met concrete and gotten to know the other
For the last 600 miles
And would for many more

The lone loner had accidentally trespassed into this beauty
After observing the world from a 15ft wide strip of concrete
He had slowed to a standstill,
Breaking free just for a moment from the isolation a journey brings
Overcome by awe at the busy emptiness that spread out in front of him

Though hot and angry earlier in the day,
The sun had cooled down and tempered.
Lining the sky with gold,
Rolling out strips along the horizon,
And smattering flecks of purple right at the edges.
A final gift before settling down for a nap.

As night overtakes all, the sun, the sky, and the clouds
The road remains, a lonely reminder of the time to go