somewhere up ahead

with hands thrust deep into pockets
the hours slip silently past
one into next without reckoning
on this cold
september dawn.

lost in thought
i walk empty country roads
draped in morning fog
and headed no place in particular
with a backpack full of ghosts

the sun peeks above the trees
spilling its soft-petaled light
across my weary path
as i dream of a home whimsical
and marvelous
somewhere up ahead.