Taconic Shade

Riding shotgun with the ragtop down, the sky is like the bluest eye

Morning air is whipping through my hair, a red-tailed hawk is on the fly

All the simple things in life unfold, the mountains hold mysteries left untold

The clouds are freshly bleached, the sun is shining gold

The road winds through the glade, where sunbeams narrow and fade

Through a canopy the leaves have made over Taconic shade

Leave your worries with the empty road, the hills will see that they're disposed

Breathe the spirit of a silent grove, as the fallen leaves show summer exposed