I am Home

by jimowensjr

The scent of wet cut grass and

the sound of the cawing crows that circling

far above;

White hot coal burning in the fireplace, snapping

and

the smell of bacon

frying

in a timeless skillet,

black as night;

The laughter of cousins

and the gentle murmur,

parents talking their grown up talk,

eating fat slices of pecan and coconut pie,

drinking bitter black coffee

boiling hot;

The baying cattle

and the barking dogs,

The roaring rattle of trucks

racing down a battered road;

Quilts heavy upon me on a starry winter’s night;

The quiet whistle and

the strong frailty of a gentle old woman

roaming the rooms

of an ancient white-washed house;

The sound of rain

battering a tin roof

and the startling thunder,

The symphony of frogs and crickets and katydids;

Red and green lights glowing

on a Christmas Eve

and the promise

of the coming morn;

The alarming blast of

firecrackers

and the joyful terror

of children and

Parents that caution;

These things.

Long ago.

And far away

Yet.

I am home.

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