Something in my eye

A thin silver veil lies over the grass,
residue of November's frozen mist.
Here before dawn
the cottonwoods catch fire,
glowing, promising
a golden autumn day.
I don't stop. So what
if my chest clenches
at the beauty? After all,
I am Responsible.
Before all else,
I am Responsible.
And so, responsibly,
I whisper thanks
and drive on.
The defroster will dry my tears.