the painting

I drive past a painting
on the way home from the office
there is an open field, a worn barn
and a sturdy home on the hill
where a light has come on in the window

Below, a pair of blanketed horses
have gathered near the small pond
where a tire swing hangs
still above the water bugs
gliding across the surface

and there I am, in brushed oils
a reflection in the windshield
walking along the white rail fence
hand stopping to rest on a post
looking for boards that need mending.