Hometown America.

I half expect to run into my childhood self Laughing with the others running barefoot Over dusty granite trails stretching for miles Passing by neighbors sitting on porch swings Running through the fields of Lane’s farm Bathing amidst the summer rain storms Breathing the scent of fresh washed earth Wafting through unlocked screen doors Harvesting the gardens tomato crops Picking the sweetest fruit of the orchards Over the soft birch lined hills rolling on Riding horseback through the backwoods To jump in the quarried swimming holes How these memories have become my treasures More valuable as the years continue passing Still I can smell the sweetness permeating Of spring lilac’s and apple blossoms drifting Slowly down to that old country road