Rolling hilled Appalachians
Oldest mountains in the world
Dense with pine, fir, beech, and maple
Civilization brings monster kudzu sculptures
Roadside memorials
Pride groomed lawns waving stars and stripes
Neat knoll-top churches
Jesus saved for Sundays
The basset hound bitch at the corner store
Drowsy in her sun-warmed patch of concrete
Ambles up to greet three strangers looking for Chickory.
We are found instead
Here she comes bouncing up in her vintage Ford
Impish smile and glinting aviators
Trout watchful at her side
Tail thump-thump-thumping
Back home to a place held tight against her heart
Pretty as a picture
Fresh as a daisy
Country cozy under arcs of canopy
Serenaded by songbird, creek, and chicks
Underfoot pecking and fussing
Vera, Wren, Peggy Jean, and Easter
The ground a carpet of tiny treasures
Delicate stands of unnamed purple flowers
Miniature mushrooms made giant by ants
Garden sweet and tempting
Lettuces accompanying
Pecan crusted brook trout and mom's mac and cheese
Sleep comes like a hammer to the head.
Morning arrives just as sudden
Air crisp and hills blue green
Up and down the mountain
Sets of two legs and four
While Trout rules the Cohutta with her flash and call
Two hopeful strays negotiate their share
Glue-stuck against our wandering sides
Hooks sunk deep into our hearts
We cannot keep them
Cannot risk them following us home and killing chickens
Nothing left but to fake and feign
Fun over
Dogs betrayed and left
Stun-faced at the side of the road
Blink back the sting and look up instead
See the uninterrupted sky blue sky
See the day stretched out young and hopeful
See that we are more than marks on the map
More than currency of chic-shopped mountain towns
Watch the ebb and feel the flow
Locals and carpetbaggers
People shouting howdy neighbor
How everyone brightens to see Chickory
With her fast flash smile
Blue eyes matching the daytime sky
Hard earned honest history.
And then!
She allows you to drive the old Ford back home
Mythic hunk of American metal
Engine growl like a heartbeat steady as she goes
Hugs every twist and turn of road
As sunlight makes a Pollock painting of the afternoon
And sinners go down to the river to pray
We drink and wonder at the how and why
The who did what to whom
The this that and the other thing
What bulwarks to erect against the encroaching darkness
The fall of spirit the death of independence
Until even the revolution must break for dinner
Comfort found in orange cabin glow
Flash of glass
Sheen of metal
The waft of something good to eat
As with all things made, given, and received
In the search for fellowship in a shut-tight world
We travel in order to make of the unfamiliar
Another place that feels like home.
12 comments:
:-)
We are blessed. Beautifully written.
Lord have mercy, i might cry. Moi i loved it. now will it be an old ford truck and not the el camino?
how your own hills mustve looked upon return. i hope when i visit your big sky i can lay words to it as beautifully as you have done here. just a delight. thank you.
Such beautiful poetry in your soul. Brought to your soul. God's grace on Chickory.
Oh, my, what a beautiful ode to your visit together.
goodness me. You're words are very voyeuristic. I could see it, like I was there. I love that you've made these bonds with chickie and boxie, that shall always just, be.
xo.
ah, the appalacians and Chick9 left their mark on yore soul?
Thank you for sharing yore sweet days in the new familiar home.
"And sinners go down to the river to pray "
I'm not sure I know what that's about but I don't think I was meant too. I got a lot of great visuals from your words on Chickory...your Walden?
Good evening Moi,
The way you put words together can stir the soul.
Sigh.
You gotta purty tongue.
"Watch the ebb and feel the flow"
Perfection.
Excellent! thanks Moi, for painting such a beautiful picture of your visit to Chickory with the gals!
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