a vision to enjoy, breathe rustic and pristine. with an ounce of curiosity I dream, what stories are held within-
is this beauty, as she stands, left for the taking, or is someone keeping watch? left to her own devises, her strength must continue, remain hopeful in winter. alone amongst the blanket of snow, she screams forlorn, however you see her and she remains yours. might she be worth the risk?
dreams surround a homesteading such as this, no amount of work could persuade them to leave. his heart was given so long ago, and the farm has held on ever since.
the birds sang quite rightly the day she pulled in, the tire was giving her fits. when he took his cap off and extended his hand, his eyes caused hers to lift, amused by the pink shade of shy she wore with her smile, he let off on his farmer’s tight grip.
hard became harder as sunsets created do-overs, and laughter filled the crisp winter air. facts remained, but pleasure pursued as two strangers became one another, encouraging life to come tumbling after.
conscience is a stream, leaves fall but it sounds like rain; strum instead of fade. seasons, they say, change and Autumn begins to weep. Mary sings of sugar but it’ll take more than a spoon life in brown, red and golden hues.
with a harvest so plentiful, why is there no joy with billows of copper creams within the sky, why do I fear tomorrow with air as crisp as heirloom apples, why isn’t laughter around us with Autumn expressing herself just so, why am I alone with a voice shaking towards the bluest of sky, why, oh why, can’t I fly.
not one star in the sky tonight tho’ we rarely speak of them ’tis mostly children, cars and simpler times in their own right, they all shine cardinals a symbol of what we mean to me what will come of thee verdant grass continues will it even matter now darkness looms beyond the street allow shadows to envelope completely
You can hear the sound of this machine working – you know you can – if you’re as old as me, and grew up in a small Midwestern town, she was an occasional reality. We heard about newfangled ways of serving others, but what we had was good enough. We understood how to fix her, simple trial and error, no fuss or awkward searching – some days a little pat on the bottom, or the sweet whisper of, “come on baby” and she’d spring to life. I smile because she was a dinosaur in the 80s, yet we were proud. Seems there is still plenty of good happening right here, if you’ll allow it.
what is time without a watchful eye, til color fades, we mustn’t gray tones allow hope say it is so, dear one. how is it my hands feel the road and its bumps, while tires roll atop – proof we’ve been here before and what a journey it was. clouds become pillows, for murmurs under the sheets, and the rain in the distance a melody I remember and cherish, please believe. today is full of beauty, I smirk yet again. passionate in the ordinary I shall remain, and glimpses of tomorrows shall nudge me forward, across the plains.
as our sun sets I reach for you a hint please, if even this exists. why would I question your strength surrounds me the wind becomes your touch the geese flying behind me speak the words I long to hear yet, in a language I cannot understand. my eyes settle on tangerine hues as my world settles in for the night. I sigh good evening, my love, where have you been and where shall we go?
Our minds are consumed with a legion of details. Where to begin deemed obvious by most, if you could feel the pulse; a quickened heartbeat, you’d know there’s no recovery. We’re past all that, bits too forgone to consider, the beauty lies, quite perfectly just beyond and your hands belong there.