an alliterative account of a three-county drive

counting county lines as we cross
mariposa
merced
madera
oaks stand still
bare-branched and ghostly
against the greening hillsides
fiddleneck flowers along fencelines
and roadsides
cattle graze
contentedly
quietly
meadowlarks alight atop fenceposts
breasts bursting with heartbreakingly beautiful song
making melodious love
to the warm spring air