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?
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.
when gathering for granddad’s funeral no one’s vehicle tires turned into the yard similarly. even gravel sounded different as folks drove in and chose a place to park. the earth where his brown Ford pickup had been parked for nearly 70 years – until Uncle drove it away – had grass growing again, but had for nearly fifteen years, I suppose. I wonder if I’m the only one who noticed. I never asked.