travelling along the old country lane
a long way I have come
a long time
seeing the landmarks of my youth
the old trees at the bend
welcoming those who come happily
warning those of no good.
Each footstep leaves its mark
from my fine leather boots
in the snow that dusts everything overnight
the sweet smell of chimneys
mingling with the crispness
of the mid-winter freshness in the quiet
journey of days long past.
the goose is stuffed
overflowing with old bread
apples and herbs from the summer
onions baked slowly
sweet potatoes added to the pot
I take myself
through the memories of my past
have I been forgotten
out of sight and out of mind
a whisper in the night
Mother, have ye not had a single word
from that child of thine?
the best to him
as he travels beyond the bend
the laughter comforts me
warmth from the embraces of love
changes will rule this day
as I once again
sit at my mother's table
taking in her tears of comfort
as they cut the Thanksgiving goose.
barb
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