Nostalgia

the stink of the swamp slaps you in the face in the same exact spot never disappointing, memorizing the land mark where you began to hold your breath after years you become accustomed, how will you know you are getting close to home restless frogs after the rain, mating season in the south resurfacing sounds of nostalgic sweet warm spring sound-front breezes blue-jays playfully dance in a puddle looking way pass the caterpillar stricken tobacco fields where the eagles circle death lingers, something quite necessary in nature a hologram of my granddaddy on his tractor diffracting from memory, he's waving all surreal, times are still changing, the corn fields don't look the same to me anymore and yet the urge to see them is of a giddy child flocks of geese overwhelm the atmosphere with the honking echoes of familiarity a sense of relief as they drown out the on key invisible cicadas all in their own tune blackbirds orderly swarm to hang out on the power lines cattle so few grazing the grass appearing smaller in stature photographic memory scrambles, usually there is a crane by the canal obviously noticeable there were more and more trees missing stripping away the land of the deer and black bear taking for granted cute bunny rabbits territory furthermore, all the tiny forest creatures goodness, what happened to the woods around the bend once flourished with pines, oaks, and a giant maple tree that spoke of seasons the weeping willow on the corner vanished overnight replaced by a garage look at the doe standing near the edge of the road confused too