We wind along the soft dirt road,
billows of dust swirling behind us,
the crunch of rocks under the wheels.
We follow the curve into the green
pine woods, the needles splayed above
like an Impressionist painting
stark and lush and beautiful.
We turn into a deep forest,
tall trunks pushing into a canopy of emerald;
here and there, a spray of citrine leaves
dances between the branches of evergreens.