Old Habits

Funny how old habits remain

An integral part of my being

Unknowingly I do what I did

Have always done

Travel the backroads

That ribbon the countryside

To get to Turlock or Modesto

To Manteca or Stockton

Slow and steady I drive

Where hawks squat on fence posts

Where crows crowd the skies

Where vineyards blanket the earth

In a familiar stance

And orchards shield

Me from human glance

I have traveled these aged roads

In my youth

Alone with a drink in my hand

As if comforted in lonely times

By these cracked chuckholed

Veins that hold together distance

And now years afterwards

Without a second thought

I journey across them as if

Visiting old thoughts

Old friends

Etched into each crack and hole

There for posterity

There to re-examine

There to complete the thoughts

That never found resolution

Or peace of mind

Yes old habits are hard to break

These roads have not been broken.