Abandoned
barns and houses,
Shattered
timbers on crumbling walls,
Ruins of
pastoral life.
Piles of
dirty snow,
On sheltered
north slopes,
Remnants of
the winter past.
Clumps of
brilliant daffodils,
In the middle
of nowhere,
Random or
planned once upon a time.
Unimaginable
mélange,
Junk
scattered about a yard,
Relics of
forgotten lives.
The
fragrance of wood smoke,
Wafting up
from chimneys,
Relief from
the morning chill.
Gentle
streams through fields,
Plunging
down hillsides become
Raging
torrents of spring.
Horse-drawn
Amish buggies,
Plodding on
the shoulder
Remembrances
of pastoral life.
Riding on
Tug Hill.
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