Field Trips to Road Trips

I'm moving to California soon. August/September-ish.

I'm scared and nervous, but I sure do love adventures with you.
This is a poem I wrote about our first expedition.

Field Trips

Welcomed by the smell
of death and
rotting deer,
flies and ants and
whatever has been feeding on its
decomposing body since
last
we found ourselves here.
The sun is warm.
There's the factory and
the tractor, its
all there,
still there-
as I imagine it will be for quite some time.
The mammal smells worse than before,
the tail more decomposed,
and the bones more exposed.
I had to say
"No, Lucy!"
Or she'd might have played
with them.
Must’a been a mile or two of blues and whites in the sky,
the reds and yellows,
greens and oranges of the trees,
the flying grasshoppers and
busy butterflies on a purple hunt,
then finally,
cheese and wine,
crackers and apples and
cheesy remarks and fruity attempts at something there,
too timid to express.
And then arm in arm.
She hopped along, splashed around.
He filmed, I laughed,
she's cute, I'm happy,
he's intriguing.
And then over the bridge back to reality.