Yearning for A Home Long Gone
Standing in the ankle high emerald green grass of my
great-aunts property barefoot, hearing the creak of wood
My daughter and husband are in the house napping, dreaming tenderly about sweet things.
Creak, crick, creak, crick goes the wood crying against
the steel. The porch swing was in use, the steady motions
a lullaby of calmness that washes over me along with a
whippoorwills cry upon the gentle breeze. It's an enticing symphony begging for a jig and dance.
Watching the waist high golden wheat sway to and fro taking my mind to simpler times. I inhale deeply enjoying the intoxicating scent that has no name as I shut my eyes.
The smells meeting my nose were of pinto beans and ham hocks simmering away on the stove. The scent of freshly baked cornbread resting on a wicker pot holder placed upon the table. The sizzle of pork chops frying, the bite of pickling spices and brine indicate to me dinner is almost ready.
Peals of muffled laughter and chatter let me know that
the rest of the family is here. The sun has started its
descent to bring twilight o'er the land, o'er the crops and
various garden vegetables that have grown here for as long as I can remember.
Crick, creak, crick, creak...
I opened my eyes hearing someone call my name. The yard vanishes, the smells dissipate, sirens pierce the silence of the room. My heart aches. For a place that is no longer.
For a familial experience like that again.
My heart aches for home. And as my husband and daughter are my home. I yearn for the home I had, wanting to show them that it can be.
Sunday suppers. Sitting around playing cards.
My heart aches for a legend long forgotten....
Copyright © Vee Sparda | Year Posted 2019