Ragged Mountain Byway

This old house once knew my children
This old house once knew my wife
This old house was home and comfort
As we fought the storms of life

January Thaw

A winter’s flower.
How do I disgrace thee.
When you provide me with such symmetry.
An all seasons charm.

Winter’s flower.
How could I not seek but always see.
And, though the footpath is slow
to where you are.
The earthen tones splendor like a distant star.
Winter’s flower by Tree Farm Loop…
take a left off Baptist Hill road.
Near where the Shakers grow old.

not So Plain

You see, here, along the northeast…

a mile is forever on a country lane

In the arm’s of nature, Mother’s face, prolongs my existence.

Her silhouette disheveled, fetal and beyond my wandering.

I felt that one step forward and one step back only released my defects.

This lonely, disparaged pond and her trail praises those that are rampant, quiet and egotistically…frail.

So, I come back down (always) a downy lane.

Snowy, horizontally.

Bluster and sustain-ably sane.

Still a history still….not so plain.

Aching Limbs

Clover still grows during this…the first hard frost.

I have always envied this walk…to clear the air.

Drudgery and all its beauty strewn about in wild fanfare.

The perpetual futility of earth’s aching limbs.

A healthy canvas for the unknowing eye, is all one will see.

Progress and perfection…languishing in antiquity.