I-5

Bear my load, O endless road
And guide me with my freight
From Washington, through Oregon,
to California’s gate.

Up and down through green and brown,
now wide, now growing thin,
through sage and pine, the ribbon winds
across earth’s rumpled skin.

Towering sequoias sing
with wind and drumming hail.
But past the storm the hills unform,
sunk to a withered vale.

Art of a Mathematician