Friday, October 10, 2008

Northern Plays

In days gone by I had no thoughts of passing time.

My days were filled with sights of
Snow covered nature,
Round table set with ash trays and half butts.
Children in laughter and in tears,
Front yard, barbeque grills, jump rope, and chalk.
Rocking chair with a throw cover.
These I saw in childhood.

I woke to varied sounds of
Sizzling buttered frying pans,
Sweet humming of gospel like hymns,
Running water,
Birds chirping, cars speeding by, sweeping of the front porch,
Ringing of a bell for breakfast.
These I heard in childhood.

My mouth was filled with tastes of
Thick sweet maple syrup,
Candy cane inserted in a dill pickle,
Savory green bell peppers and just right seasoned pork chops,
Buttermilk and corn mill,
Soggy bread with pineapples and peaches.
I tasted these in childhood.

My childish hands reached out and felt
Wet freezing snow,
Polished cherry wood,
Eggs, flour, and water.
Soggy, dirty and full of naturalization mud pies.
Rough from age connecting with mine to get up.
These I felt in childhood.

I well remember the smells of
Lemon Pin Sol and Old English,
Slowly cooked buttered grits,
Cinnamon baked apple pie,
Boling maple with a hint of nutmeg,
Mixture of morning dew set of with evening dinners.
All these I smelled in childhood.

Time was nothing to me,
Though it held me green and dying.

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