October Roads

The streetlights flick off one by one.

I pack the trunk while you tie your shoe.

Two heavy sweaters tucked inside.

The sky turns from dark to navy blue.

We have everything we need right here.

The coffee stays hot in the blue metal cup.

The radio plays a soft slow song.

We drive down the street before anyone is up.

You hand me a sandwich wrapped in foil.

We laugh as the engine hums along.

The dashboard light glows warm and soft.

We hum to the chorus of every song.

We have everything we need right here.

Your hand is so warm on the gearshift lever.

The headlights cut through the morning fog.

This morning road feels easy and clear.

The city is sleeping far behind.

The open road stretches out ahead.

No hurry to get to where we go.

Just following where the road is led.

We have everything we need right here.

The back seat is full of warm sweater wool.

The quiet blue sky starts turning to gold.

The tank is full and the day is ours.

Thermos on the dash and coffee warm.

We drive into the early light.

Just you and me on the open road.

Everything is calm and right.

We hit the turn off highway nine.

The trees form an arch above our car.

A single maple leaf lands right here.

It rode with us from miles afar.

Autumn is best when I ride with you.

The crimson leaf sticks underneath the glass.

It turns bright red in the yellow sun.

We watch the golden branches pass.

You point to a tree that looks like fire.

I tap on the glass to clear the view.

The wipers move once and then they stop.

The leaf stays put and so do you.

Autumn is best when I ride with you.

We drive under canopy made of gold.

The sunlight sparkles on your hair.

A million pretty leaves unfold.

The air smells like cedar and dried oak.

We roll down the window just an inch.

The wind brings a rustle through the woods.

We do not hurry even a pinch.

Autumn is best when I ride with you.

The bright leaves shower on the hood.

We lean back easy in our seats.

And every single mile feels good.

The leaf is still tucked on the wiper blade.

We drift along the crimson lane.

Your smile is bright as the autumn sky.

No need to ever hurry again.

The small station bench is made of pine.

We watch the last train pull away.

The schedule board clicks quietly.

We have nowhere else to be today.

We do not mind missing the train today.

We sit side by side on the wooden bench.

Your paper ticket slips into my palm.

We smile and let the clock unwind.

The station master waves his hand.

He tells us the next one comes at three.

We buy two mints from a vending box.

And sit under a yellow ginkgo tree.

We do not mind missing the train today.

The platform is quiet and cool and sweet.

The fallen leaves cover the iron tracks.

We kick them gently with our feet.

Who needs a schedule when we have time?

Who needs to rush across the state?

The sun feels gentle on our necks.

It feels so good to be so late.

We do not mind missing the train today.

A breeze blows a leaf right on your lap.

We lean our heads back on the wall.

And rest through a thirty-minute nap.

The train tracks hum in the distance now.

We hold our hands on the bench seat.

Missing the train was the best mistake.

This quiet afternoon is complete.

A wooden shed beside the road.

Boxes of fruit lined up in rows.

An old lady sells us chestnuts fresh.

The autumn breeze softly blows.

The market is bright with the harvest yield.

We pick four persimmons orange and bright.

The farmer smiles and bags them up.

The autumn sun feels warm and light.

You peel a chestnut with your thumb.

And hand the sweetest piece to me.

The wooden tables smell like wood.

And honey from a local bee.

The market is bright with the harvest yield.

We carry a paper bag full of sweets.

The colors are rich in the wooden crates.

And people smile along the streets.

The year worked hard to make this fruit.

It took the rain and summer heat.

And now it sits right in our hands.

Ripe and full and soft and sweet.

The market is bright with the harvest yield.

We taste the sweetness on our tongue.

The air is crisp and clear today.

The day feels generous and young.

Paper bag tucked under your arm.

Chestnuts warm inside my coat.

We walk back slowly to the car.

With happy tunes inside our throat.

We pull the car to a gravel patch.

The valley below is painted red.

No words are needed as we look out.

At the carpet of leaves ahead.

The trees are so red that we stop to look.

We stand together side by side.

The quiet mountain holds the view.

The autumn valley stretches wide.

You take my hand and hold it close.

We breathe the fresh cold mountain air.

An eagle circles in the sky.

Without a single rush or care.

The trees are so red that we stop to look.

The sunlight hits the canopy.

It shines like copper in the sun.

As far as both our eyes can see.

Sometimes words just get in the way.

When everything is bright and clear.

I lean my shoulder against yours.

So glad that both of us are here.

The trees are so red that we stop to look.

The hill is silent and serene.

The prettiest place on earth today.

The sweetest sight I have ever seen.

We stand in silence on the hill.

Your shoulder warm against my own.

The valley glows in orange light.

The best afternoon we have known.

The sun dips low behind the ridge.

The evening air turns sharp and cold.

You wrap your heavy wool coat wide.

And pull me in your gentle hold.

One big wool coat keeps us both so warm.

We share the buttons down the front.

Walking slow along the lane.

Finding everything we want.

My left arm in your right coat pocket.

Your right arm wrapped around my waist.

We walk like one big fuzzy bear.

No need for any kind of haste.

One big wool coat keeps us both so warm.

The chilly wind can blow all night.

We step together down the path.

Under the early evening light.

Your collar turns up against my chin.

It smells like laundry and fresh pine.

I do not feel the cold at all.

With your warm heart right next to mine.

One big wool coat keeps us both so warm.

The dark sky fills with winter stars.

We laugh out loud at how we look.

And walk back to where we parked our car.

Wrapped up together in heavy wool.

Two pairs of boots upon the dirt.

Walking real close in the cool night breeze.

Nothing at all can make us hurt.

The water sits like dark blue glass.

The wooden dock is still and dry.

A full moon rises up real slow.

Into the quiet autumn sky.

The water is still in the autumn night.

It mirrors every tree and star.

We sit together on the edge.

Where peaceful quiet things are.

You skip a flat stone on the lake.

It ripples once and then goes still.

A owl calls out across the woods.

Up on the shadow of the hill.

The water is still in the autumn night.

The moon shines down on where we sit.

Our shadows stretch along the wood.

We do not mind a single bit.

The season rests after the heat.

The earth is settling down to sleep.

And sitting here right by your side.

Is a memory I will keep.

The water is still in the autumn night.

The cool air settles on the shore.

I lean my head upon your chest.

Could not ask for anything more.

Moonlight floating on the lake.

Your arm around me quiet and warm.

The dark water rests so still.

Safe and sound away from storm.

The highway lines run straight and white.

The clock reads twenty past eleven.

The radio plays a gentle tune.

The midnight road feels just like heaven.

The cool night air feels good on our skin.

We roll the windows all the way down.

The autumn breeze fills up the car.

As we drive far away from town.

You reach across and hold my hand.

Your fingers warm against my palm.

The headlights light the pine trees up.

The dark night road is smooth and calm.

The cool night air feels good on our skin.

The smell of pine and dry fall leaf.

We float along the open lane.

With easy joy and no more grief.

The year has grown so rich and full.

We worked so hard to get right here.

And now we ride the midnight wind.

With nothing else to doubt or fear.

The cool night air feels good on our skin.

The starry sky goes on for miles.

I look across the dark front seat.

And catch the sweetest of your smiles.

Windows down and wind in our hair.

The tires hum on the highway lane.

Driving home in the cool night air.

Happy to be right here again.

The wooden ladder leans up high.

Against the heavy apple tree.

You climb up three rungs on the wood.

And pick the red one down for me.

We picked all the apples our hands could hold.

The bushel basket is full and sweet.

The orchard smells like summer's end.

And fallen red fruit at our feet.

I wipe the red skin on my sleeve.

And take a crisp and juicy bite.

You laugh because the juice runs down.

Under the afternoon sunlight.

We picked all the apples our hands could hold.

The branches bend beneath the weight.

The sun shines warm through yellow leaves.

We walk together through the gate.

Every branch has done its work.

The long year brought a rich reward.

We pack the boxes in the back.

With all the good things nature stored.

We picked all the apples our hands could hold.

Our hands are sticky sweet and clean.

The brightest red in the whole wide grove.

The prettiest trees we have ever seen.

Bushel basket tucked in the back.

Apple sweetness on our teeth.

Walking slow through orchard rows.

With soft green grass beneath.

The paper map is spread real wide.

Across the steering wheel and dash.

We tried to fold it back in place.

And crumpled it with a small crash.

Getting lost with you is a lucky thing.

The map is crooked and upside down.

We took a turn on a dirt back road.

Ten miles away from any town.

A covered bridge sits up ahead.

With red moss growing on the wood.

We never would have found this spot.

If we had driven where we should.

Getting lost with you is a lucky thing.

The river sparkles in the sun.

We stop the car beside the bridge.

To see where this old stream might run.

Who cares about the major road?

Who needs the shortest way to go?

The side roads have the best fall views.

And everywhere we move is slow.

Getting lost with you is a lucky thing.

We fold the paper in a square.

It does not matter where we are.

As long as both of us are there.

Paper map tossed in the back.

We cross the wooden bridge together.

Lost on a dirt road in the hills.

Enjoying perfect autumn weather.

We stop beside a mountain stream.

And set our paper cups right down.

The tea is hot and smells like mint.

Away from all the noisy town.

Hot tea tastes sweet on a breezy day.

The white steam rises in the cold.

We wrap our hands around the paper.

And watch the river currents fold.

You blow upon the steaming brim.

And take a slow and careful sip.

A small drop lands upon the wood.

Right on the table's wooden tip.

Hot tea tastes sweet on a breezy day.

The stream flows past over grey stone.

We sit together in the sun.

The calmest hours we have known.

The warmth goes down into our chest.

The mountain breeze blows fresh and clean.

We watch the yellow birch leaves fall.

Into the water clear and green.

Hot tea tastes sweet on a breezy day.

The paper cups are warm to touch.

We do not need a lot of things.

This simple drink is quite as much.

White steam drifting in the air.

Two paper cups held close and warm.

Sitting by the mountain stream.

Safe from every kind of storm.

An old stone wall runs down the lane.

Covered in dry oak leaves and moss.

You stoop right down and pick one up.

And count how many lie across.

Small golden treasures along the stone wall.

You drop three acorns in my coat.

We walk along the quiet path.

While songbirds sing a cheerful note.

Their caps are round and smooth and neat.

They shine like little wooden tops.

You balance one upon my shoe.

And laugh out loud when it just drops.

Small golden treasures along the stone wall.

The oak tree drops them one by one.

We gather them in leather gloves.

Under the gentle autumn sun.

The forest knows just what to do.

It saves its strength for winter time.

And leaves these little bits of gold.

Along this gentle hill we climb.

Small golden treasures along the stone wall.

Our pockets heavy with the day.

We walk together down the track.

And hum a tune along the way.

Acorns clinking in my coat.

Walking along the mossy wall.

Small simple things that make us smile.

The sweetest afternoon of all.

The sun is dipping past the ridge.

The clouds turn purple pink and red.

You frame the picture through the glass.

With yellow trees above our head.

The sky turns to orange above the trees.

You take a picture of my smile.

We stand together in the field.

And stay right here a little while.

The little camera makes a click.

The small screen lights up warm and bright.

It caught the way the light shines down.

Just right before the start of night.

The sky turns to orange above the trees.

The sunset reflects in your eyes.

The colors change from gold to red.

Across the quiet evening skies.

No need to save a thousand shots.

Just one good picture of this place.

To keep the memory of this day.

And the sweet look upon your face.

The sky turns to orange above the trees.

The shadow lengthens on the ground.

We hold each other close and quiet.

With not a single modern sound.

Small picture saved upon the screen.

Sunset glowing on the hill.

Your arm wrapped tight around my waist.

Everything warm and calm and still.

The fields are cut and stacked in bales.

The yellow corn is gathered in.

The long year's work is finished now.

And quiet peaceful days begin.

Everything we worked for is sweet right now.

The harvest fields lie calm and wide.

We sit upon a straw bale row.

And watch the sunset side by side.

We remember spring when seeds were small.

And summer heat that made them grow.

And now the barn is full of grain.

And all the fields are quiet now.

Everything we worked for is sweet right now.

The golden light shines on the ground.

We feel so grateful for this year.

And all the good things we have found.

Hard work brings a quiet heart.

When all the heavy chores are done.

We rest our feet and breathe it in.

Under the setting autumn sun.

Everything we worked for is sweet right now.

The air is fresh and full of peace.

We hold our hands and smile real soft.

And let all former worries cease.

Golden bales across the field.

Your hand resting in my lap.

The year's good work is finished well.

Wrapped up in autumn's gentle map.

The driveway gravel crunching slow.

Our front porch light is burning yellow.

The journey ends right where we started.

The evening feeling soft and mellow.

We made it back home with a quiet heart.

The trunk is full of fruit and leaves.

The autumn wind blows soft and warm.

Through the dark roof and wooden eaves.

We carry boxes up the steps.

The key turns easy in the lock.

The old house smells like cedar wood.

And tick-tock goes the hallway clock.

We made it back home with a quiet heart.

We put the thermos on the shelf.

The memory of the October road.

Is a warm coat all by itself.

We traveled far across the state.

Through red maples and mountain air.

And coming back home feels just as sweet.

With you right next to me right there.

We made it back home with a quiet heart.

We kick our boots off by the door.

So happy for the trip we took.

And looking forward to much more.

Porch light glowing warm and yellow.

Home at last from October roads.

Sitting close on our dark front porch.

With happy hearts and peaceful loads.