You see them scattered throughout the countryside, tucked away in remote locations. Someones home, someones hope.  Abandoned now.
Not so unlike our own wanderings, revisited, in thought and dream once held.

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Spring

These are the fine days that
go on to become summer
Days of promise, a new green
against a blue so proud

A time when shade, neither
considered nor needed, makes
meager patterns on
the forest floor

These are the days that
go on to become summer
Though one hopes
not too quickly

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Forgotten Ones

Places like these aren’t hard to find
buildings old and road overgrown
They come with odd names like cove
and gorge, with memories rich and open
doors

Where families sought sustenance
upstream all on farm or orchard
Years would be good, some were hard
the creek would flood and babies were
born

Not much stays still in this world now
just me here with the wind and sighs
Empty you could say but maybe not
a spirit is present, a memory
kept

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Golden Light

Light settles gently upon
the shoulders of the earth
Fine, silken and golden, undone
by the evening sun it falls
cascading down mountainside
and valley reflecting in river water
and bringing the trees to glow
The fragrance of a spring flower
dropped to the floor all that
remains of the day

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Forgotten Places

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