The Old Ford in Snow

In the silvery dark
on a night besnowed hill
the usual silence
of snowfalls is filled
with the whir of an engine
riding the ditch
plaintively rising
and falling in pitch.

Watching the snow fall
like unhurried stars--
merciless, heedless
of bald-tired cars--
I unload my worries
into capable hands.
Joe will return soon
with truck, chains, and plans.

I back down the road
that I just failed to climb
to sit by the wayside
passing the time
with wandering thoughts
on the travail of snow
on road weary tires
awaiting a tow.

The old Ford in low gear
sporting locked differentials
makes short work of tall hills.
We have all the essentials:
Home, boys, and car in the drive, safely towed.
We feel the elation
of conquering the road.