Some say the lights that fly by my
window are cars
I say they're E.T's come from afar , navigating State Highways ,
plotting the eventual take over of Hill Country
byways
Counting every house , curiously watching the cattle ,
young colts in mock battle , a braying mule
at the Tilson's Farm , a turkey hen in feathered charms
Maybe they've discovered that dried up still on Camp Creek
Or run up on Papas liquor bottles behind the 'bee-keeps'
Checking out the jeans and bloomers on Mama's clothesline
Or drinking Uncle Preachers muscadine wine way before it's time* ..