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
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