The rumble of engines echoed off the hillsides in the dusk as they arrived one at a time
A shiny new Jeep
A silver SUV
A dusty old Buick Roadmaster
The Subaru and the Bultaco got there together, last to arrive
They each took their places on large stones arranged in a circle and passed a bottle around, watching the moon, not speaking at all
Old friends, unafraid of silence
When it was dark enough, they rose as one; let down their grey hair, and began discarding their clothes
They availed themselves of one last pull on the bottle each before picking their way up to the top of the ridge where they danced in the light of the full Autumn moon
Silently
Each hearing her own music; until after awhile, just like they arrived
One at a time, they would stop
And singly, walk down from the ridge, collecting clothes and deciding to either put them back on, or toss them in the backseat before driving away
Back to their husbands and wives; their children and grandchildren
Back to their houses, their kitchens; and their jobs at the market, the clinic, or the roadhouse
A cloud of dust trailing behind, they each left slowly with
Yellow spears of light leading the way, helping them navigate the path through the desert, and back to the highway.
