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The Color of Butter

While closing my eyes, I return once again to an image that nestles at the foot of the mountains Snow crowns San Jacinto as it shadows the valley I am there as a child in the house with white shutters Red brick and mortar, and siding like butter A southern front porch, is facing the hills There are tall amber trees, and a stream, I recall, somewhere that wanders, like a dream to remember Bits and pieces are kept in a keepsake I've held They filter on down to shelter me now,.... To wrap me in comfort, when I dwell in the dark grieving for loved ones, who were there at the start. When the chill of the winter, or those sleepless nights, tossing, fills me with losses, that shadow the moon... I'll see grassy knolls, and bright alfalfa acres, A house and a barn framed with painted white fences The house unpretentious, where yards need attention Mist skimming the water, ducks swim in the pond A small corral… my Dad, dressed in Levi's… and a pitchfork, in hand, holds sweet golden hay A barn, and twin stalls, a red chicken house, a clothes line, where white sheets are bleached by the sun The house is alive, morning bacon is frying, Mom is listening while cooking, to a radio show Clattering of dishes, and the chattering soap stars fills the kitchen with sunshine, like a breath of fresh air Warm are the colors, resembling butter Wallpaper borders in bright, happy yellow. There are echoes I hear, of a house in the night, Comforting sounds of a room in the dark My cat nestled close, at the foot of my bed where I'm wrapped in the memory of that place where I lived ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 9/16/15