riding a station wagon with a bunch of buddhists- a droem(a poem, based on a dream)

riding a station wagon with a bunch of buddhists
we were driving on a busy road, with huge trucks
of stainless steel whizzing by

i said, don't you think our teacher would
go over onto the shoulder, and let
the noise and traffic pass us by
the others agreed that was a good idea

so we took a sharp left, into the beginning
of someone's stony driveway, to wait
out the storm of massive steel trucks
whizzing by as if there was no tomorrow

i told the group, that if they were going to wait
at least an hour, i wanted to go for a walk
sure, but be back soon, they all chimed in

i walked next door, and gazed at a lovely
tudor home, made of stone, wood and glass
decided to walk down the driveway, and then

up a grassy hill, to find myself peering out
at the ocean--mostly calm and flat,
blues and greens and greys and whites

i fell into a kind of a dreamstate, as I sat-
then discovered some wooden boxes
filled with wild flowers; i picked a few red,
blue, and orange flowers, placing them
delicately into my shoulder bag

then I heard a voice from the driveway
it's fine that you are picking the flowers
no one comes around here much anymore

i moved to this oregon coastal town
many years ago, after seeing the lights
of the big city--that's san francisco, i mean

it was wonderful, but i always craved
the silence, followed by the sounds
of the waves

i was happy she did not boo me away
as I walked towards the driveway
i decided to let the flowers drop

out of my shoulder bag, letting the wind
take them and place them
wherever they were meant to go

standing, while this older woman
was sitting in a wheel chair staring out
at the world going by

i noticed her blond wig
had fallen
onto the driveway
i picked it up, and placed it
onto her angelic head

she said it was nice to see a soul
on this sunny day in may
i did not correct her(it was october)
i smiled with her, and touched her shoulder

i said i must get back to my friends
they are parked next door on a white
stony driveway, with a huge white house
and black shutters; we were all waiting
for the traffic to dissipate

clearly she had no idea what rush hour was
clearly she had had no visitors for many years
clearly we connected in ways only soul knows

i traced my steps back to my friends in the station wagon
soon we took a left out the driveway-- we were headed
for a quieter, more northern town

Kate Lamberg