Wild Exits

On highway exits, I watch the land that no one else wants; the tiny forest or meadow inside the curling ramp. A wilderness that might stay a wilderness, except for the lint floating down from a thousand passersby. This is the kind of place that we herded our own natives to; land no one else wanted, not yet. On one exit I saw a turkey once, regal and grand, holding on to all the wild that was left.