I crest the hill lined with young red delicious
and pass the rows of rotten purple squash.
Barreling into the crooked entrance
my tires spit gravel and huff dust
into the yard.
The golden maple with palm-sized leaves
is my beacon
through unforeseen junctures and the stony pathway.
Lavender tulips genuflect with the wind
their reflections dancing on his polished granite.