Tags
breath, grace, gratitude, gravel roads, home, life, love, remembering, seasons, spirit, story, time, vapor
was there
once before
a story unencumbered
a part became of all I know
becoming not the end
of two or more
ten thousand miles
of houses barely standing
weathered paint
and not much more to keep
than hands
together knitted
round a time
was almost lost
where now
the news of leaving
fills the town
with worry for the breaking
and hearts to split apart
nights beyond
the eager reach of sleep
stars were lined
along the sil….
tucked beneath the lace
dreaming not the same
as of you now –
blue the smoke of cedar
rolling down the hill
from places known for stone
and daffodil
remembered
would it matter
just how simple
we were then –
when given words
but chosen yet to kiss
before the day a shimmer
of breath
above the still
– a life recalled
could never end
that way
. . .
Author’s Note – A week ago this Sunday, my mother and I took a drive into the ‘old country’, along rivers where once we swam and roads not the same. We visited the cemetery where so many of my ancestors rest – between a pasture, a (cold cold) river and a valley. This house stands not far away, near another cemetery. My mother told me of the people who once lived beneath these aching timbers, when this was majestic place, filled with stories only started and rest far away.
A gorgeous write Bobbie! It brings my mind to wander into so very beautiful times, where joy ruled the day and happiness stayed for more than just mere moments! Thanks for birthing the smile on my face!
….Thank you, Wendell. I am drawn to these places for I know how fleeting this life ~ a vapor with hardly room to breathe. ❤
I feel that life is created for stories, for believing and knowing, and finding truth. Some may see only decay, but the eye of the poets finds in places such as these time held present in all the moments that made up the living and the parting. There is no end to our song, only recapitulations of glorious verse!
How very true, Peter. Even as I was taking the picture, my mother uttered, ‘it looks spooky and ugly’……and I had just thought, ‘what an amazing place – I wonder if I could buy this’……… Our eyes need only listen to the heart in order to see….. Thank you. ❤
Oh yes, when eyes see through the heart that holds love then what wonders await. I love this Bobbie. ❤ xXx
There’s a sadness that an old house like this is silenced and can’t tell all of it’s stories…, all the happy times, and the sad. Now it just sits there on a hill, waiting to go to decay…, as we all will eventually. Beautiful thoughts, Bobbie…….xo