Dreams an' dusty roads

Y'ever wonder why we visit the ol' places lodged in our memories? Why we drive slow up to an abandoned field where once an ol' log cabin stood?

Do you find yourself smilin' as you drive "down home", grinnin' bigger as you get closer to the ol' homeplace?

Wonder why we sit sometimes an' just daydream of them places we once lived, where Grandma an' Grandpa toiled ever so hard?

Or ponder why sometimes in the deep darkness of night we close our eyes, squinch them real tight like and sift through them mind photos till we find that one place, pull aside the dusty curtains or memory and look, taste, smell and hear the ghosts of what used to be right there?

Oh, if I could find a spot as I wander, maybe just beyond the ol' rusty gate, in back of the abandoned barn, or up the holler where I could shift time an' space and slip through, back to them days, back to them places, back to where we all dream of bein'.

If only I could shed the weary and worn pieces of me an' be a youngin' once more, could run so fast to call out, "Looky here, here I am again!"

What if folks would look up, Grandma, Grandpa or Uncles an' Aunts, Mama an' Daddy, who would chuckle an' say, "Well, we didn't know you was gone."

Maybe run down to the creek an' walk right in, feel the cold water on dusty feet, soles callused so's that them ol rocks an' pebbles didn't even hurt a'tall. Bend over an' grab hold of a crawdad as it backed into the cover of a mossy rock, hold it high in the air an' whoop, hollerin', "Looky here what I caught!".

What if you an' I could find that hidden path back, play in the hills all day, hide an' seekin' in the hollers, an' then go a'runnin' right swift like back to the house when some of the women calls real loud, "Supper, come on y'all, its suppertime."

What if Heaven is just like that? What if closin' our eyes here on earth for the last time, what if that is the door we can slip through to find those things we dream of, where the folks we love are sittin' on the porch an' lookin' down the lane, lookin' for the dust risin' up as we come up the road?

What if the Good Lord is a'waitin' for us an' swings open a big ol' gate that creaks just a bit on the hinges an' says, "I've been wonderin' when you was gonna come on home. Go on now, just over yonder, follow them bright stars south. It ain't too far now. You're almost home. Listen close an' you'll hear folks a whoopin' an' hollerin' your name, cheerin' you on, glad you've finally come home."

Then He smiles an' says, "Well done, My Child. Go on now, youngin', they's a'waitin' supper for you.".

Look up

It is not difficult 
To forget to look up
To stop the tasks of the day
To enjoy the delights of the day.
Morning dances all around us
Dawn sneaks and creeps up
Wondering if she can tiptoe by
And we, none of us notice at all.

Starfish

Sometimes I want to rail at life
Cry and call life names
Rant and scream and kick the walls
Of life and reality and death.

I want to chant along with others
The chant of unfairness to all
Voices in unison crying
Though no one stops to listen

Perhaps instead I'll just stand
Shoulder to shoulder with humanity
Stand silently in rows and rows
Golems waiting, unable to speak

Or maybe one day I'll decide
Think on these many things
 And step aside, out of the crowd
To throw a starfish into the waves

Storms ranting

Through the darkest of night
Into the morning just before dawn
Storms rant and rail
Rumbling and tumbling
Over my roof and bed.

Waiting just till I doze
Moments before deep sleep
Then gleefully pounding 
Joyfully pouring rain
Into my thoughts and dreams.

Peeper Song

Spring peepers bee-deep bee-deep
Cry at dusk and early dawn
Balloon necks bellow
Singing songs so mellow
Hoping for mates to come.

Old Man's Treasure

Feels so good sometimes just to sit
To daydream, to stop and think
Ponder, wonder,reminisce, remember
Look, smell, listen, taste and drink.
Memories are an old man's treasure
That young men store away.
Stacked and forgotten till some distant day
Hidden mind deep,unknown, unheeded
Cluttered, unwanted, not really needed
To one day appear
Old friends.

Little Boy

Little boy on Papaw's knee
Bouncing, singing loudly
Daddy's pride and Mama's worry
Grandma's joy and Papaw's buddy
Oh that they could stay this way
Bounce on my knee forever.

Little Ol' Towns

They ain't much very special 
About little ol' towns
Hidin' deep in the mountains
Not much business around.

Why, they can't even afford 
A single stoplight in some
They roll up their sidewalks
Before the sun ever sets.
Folks still sit out on porches
Ol' men whittle an' wait
Drinkin' sody pop an' Moonpies 
Chewin', spittin' to boot.

They tell lies, swap knives

Laugh at their own jokes
Their wives still are pesterin'
While they sit a' jesterin'

Women still gossip over coffee,
Tea and a fresh baked crumb cake
They rant, rave an' rail on
At the messes their husbands make.

Ornery youngin's wander yards,
 Back alleys an' half empty streets
Prankin' an yankin' a little gal's hair
Hootin' an' hollerin', fillin' the air.


It ain't much of a place
To raise youngin's ye know
Ain't even no movies
Not many places to go.

Yet as they talk of their town
The place they was raised
Folks get all misty, red eyed an'
Weepy, rememberin' how it was.

 


 
 

Stolen Heart

 My heart was stolen long ago
Not by a gal who winked an' smiled
Nor a beauty with angelic voice
It was not captured by feminine wiles
Or even kisses tender, soft

I cannot note a certain time
A point I knew it true
It was'nt love at the very first sight
Not second or even three
Wasn't smitten with much ado

My heart was taken away from me
In a quiet and subtle way
I did not know or realize it then
Just how my love had grown
How could I not have known

Then one day I just stopped and knew
Just had to look around
My heart was rooted deep you see
Sunk down, tied in, anchored deep
In the hills all around me

 In my dreams I wander there
Through oaks, magnolias, pines
I walk in hollers deep and old
Along a rugged ridge
Each footstep planned and sure

I trace the grain of chestnut wood
On planks of tobaccer barns
As if I touch my beloved's face
Or hold her tender hand
For I am smitten by this place
The mountains and this land.

Snow Drifted Dreams

From his window the old man sits close to the coal grate an' watches sleepily as snow curls an' drifts around the barn on the hill.

It finds crevices and crannies to sink into, forming swirls, whirls and spirals of glistenin' white as the wind lifts and throws snow like a youngin' explorin' their first snowfall.

As the lumps of coal crackle and pop his mind looks back an' peeps into windows of memory, to times when he was young an' full of himself. Times when he would lace up his boots, throw on a coat an' wander up to the barn to make sure doors were tight latches, mules were fed an' content. Times when he would throw kindlin' into that ol' barn stove, light 'er up an' create a small spot of warmth an' escape from his cabin.

Not that they was chores that had to be done right smack dab in the midst of a winter storm, you see. A feller just needs to get out of his little ol' cabin an' see the world, work his hands an' body now an' again.

When the stove was goin' good a few lumps of coal thrown in would burn for such a long time. Then the real chores could be looked to. His tobaccer had been stripped an' was sent to the big warehouses to be sold not too long after they opened the sales floors in late November. He kept a good eye on the leaves as they hung in the barn. When they came into case there was always a flurry of work as the leaves was graded an' tied into hands. His tobaccer base weren't so very big back then, but it made for a fair to middlin' income when he was a raisin' tobaccer.

On them long winter days a feller would sweep the dirt floor to get up the remnants of the tobaccer gradin'. Tobaccer knives would be sharpened, oiled an' hung back up. Tables an' benches checked for boards needin' replacin'.

One of his favorite chores was to repair an' oil his harnesses, lines an gear for his mules. Inch by inch he would pass the well oiled leather through his hands, lookin' for cracks or dry spots needin' oil. Them ol' mules would snort an' cough, wantin' to be put into harness an' sent out to work. They got just as tired of the weather but icy ground could mean a broke leg for an ol' mule, so they stayed put.

There were times when chores could wait. Times when mules was fed an' brushed down, stalls were shoveled out, dirt floors swept clean. Those times was the best, the finest. Those times he would put a chair close to the stove an' just sit, damp boots close to the heat an' steam risin' from them as they dried. Don't know why men sit an' stare at an ol' stove as it crackles,pops an burns. He always suspected they was a studyin' on somethin'. That is what he would do, just sit an' study on the deep things of life.

The ol' man grinned an' blinked. He sat in his cabin for ever so long lookin' into the embers of coal that wormed an twisted in the grate. Yep, he could an' should get his coat on an' wander up to that ol' barn. They was always chores to be done.

He leaned back into his chair, pointed his feet toward the coal grate and smiled. Them chores could wait for a while yet. This here fire felt pretty good too.

A Cabin Waits

In my early morning dreams and sleepy drifting I wander down an old dirt road and just as I turn the bend I see an ol' cabin just waitin' for me. It is carefully placed at the head of a holler, sourwood trees full of bees just a buzzin' on hillsides that rise high above. Though it is day, there is a light in the window to let me know I am welcome an' the cabin waits for me.

I ease up onto the porch an' sit in one of the sturdy rockin' chairs, ancient an' well worn but made well, just as the cabin is. I look out on the road an' realize the view is perfect. The sound of cicadas catch my ear an' I sit back to listen as they hum a mountain tune.

Just over to the right of my vision I see a creek slappin' an' dancin' over rocks an' divin' deep in them calm spots. Water skippers skate along an little ol' minnows dart here an' yonder. As I watch my vision almost glazes over, like they are a hypnotizin' me. But they ain't, I see it just then, they are a spellin' my name, tellin' me I am home.

Early Morning Dreams

In the darkness of early morning
Well before the dawn,before my neighbors rise
I stood and watched the clouds move slow
Majestic as they sail across the sky above my head.
The high winds have pushed them tight
They appear to be washboards in the heavens
As if a wondrous giant wash woman waits
For dawn and a new day to scrub away yesterday.

Frost is painted on roof, fence and grass
Sparkling like the stars that twinkle and play Hide and seek in the blue morning sky.
It is so quiet now, no spring peepers or songbirds
No roosters, old dogs or even the sounds of cars and commerce
Just the quiet that is before the dawn.

As I stand in the cold morning I remember dreams and wonders
Dreams of spaceships and other worlds that surely spin
Around the very stars I see in my sky.
Dreams of  fairies, dwarves, heroes and elves, giants, gryphons,
And wings that spring from my back, a wondrous surprise
 As I spread wings and reach out to the winds and rise up and fly.

Rainy Mornin' in the Mountains

Down yonder in the mountains, deep in the holler
A right smart drive from any little ol' town
Little ol' cabins sit coveyed up in a wide spot
Not much more than a couple fields an' a creek
Sittin' in the flat place made as two hills run together.

It is early mornin' an' the mist still clings tight
Seems to wrap tendrils around the trees an' weeds
Writhes an moves an' reaches out here an' yonder
Hangin' on a might longer since it is rainin'.

Soon enough a weak an' ancient sun will rise
Tryin' to punch through the mist, rain an' clouds.
Birds will wake up an ruffle their damp feathers
Roosters, hoarse from the damp will crow a scratchy "cock-a-do".

Cows in beat up an' broken down barns are gonna beller
Hopin' someone will be out soon to milk.
Ol' dogs will rise out of the dust under them cabin porches
Shake an' look out at the rain only to drop down again.

 Lights are soon to come on an' little streams of smoke
Will start to rise from chimneys as coals are poked
An' big ol' potbelly stoves are stoked.
It is a rainy ol' mornin' in the mountains.

Folks are just a' risin', breakfast just a' cookin'.
Ol' men will be movin' slow this mornin'.
Bones just achin', feet a' hurtin' as they pull on their shoes.
But they is chores to be done, stock to feed.

It is a rainy ol' wonderful, blessed mornin' in the mountains.
Y'all come home.  Come on home.

Last Dance

Come dance with me, my little one
Wrap your arms around my knee
Place your feet on my big ol' foot
Come on an' dance with me.

Hey, dance with me, oh Daddy dear
We'll twist fast an' gyrate slow
Don't be afraid there's no one here
I'll show you how to go.

Come dance with me, oh daughter dear
I'll hold you close this one last time
Your groom is waiting patiently,
But for this dance you're mine.

The King of Dawn

In the early morning hours the sky is dark, midnight blue and clear
As if God laid his royal robe over the earth for a moment.
The stars glitter brightly, they are His royal diadem
Dropped carelessly onto the majestic robe as He passed by.

The crescent of the new moon is surely the jewel
Set atop His Scepter, laid aside for just a while
As He tends to the hearts and hurts of men, women
Little ones who cry out even now to a loving God.

Royal vestments aside, the Shepherd of our lives
Searches each one out, reaches out to comfort.
He turns to see His Son and Spirit waiting, watching.
To the great Comforter he speaks softly, gently;

"Tend this one, and those over yonder, they need Our touch."
And in the early morning hours, awakened by the Son,
Warriors rise up, drop to their knees and intercede
Not knowing who or what the need is, but knowing.

In the early morning hours hurting and desperate folks
Cry out to the Omnipotent Creator, not as King of Kings
Nor as the Great Shepherd of His far flung flock
But like a little lost child, crying, "Abba, Daddy".

Dark and Damp Morning

It is a morning that is still dark and damp
The air is so very cool for a Summer day.
In the darkness there is no birdsong
They've not yet awakened to brighten the day.
 In the distance there is the sound of traffic
Men and women already rushing from home.
Minds wrapped around all they must accomplish
But it is a morning that is dark and damp.
 The world is still quiet, nature still rests.
The grass clings to the drops of rainwater
That so freely fell during the short summer night
Soon the sun will burn away the excess.
But the grass drinks quickly and deeply in the dark.
 Lights are blinking on in distant windows
Coffee is surely brewing, children are being roused.
Loud yellow buses will command the roads.
Little ones will appear hump-backed in the distance
Shouldering backpacks and talking loudly
Hiding their nervousness on the second day of school.

But it is still a dark and damp morning.
Nature still sleeps, waiting for the sun to slowly climb
Inch by inch into the empty eastern sky.

Muted morning

The morning is damp and muted
As if the rain turned the volume down.
Back yonder a rain dove calls
Her plaintive cry is lonely an' slow.
Other songbirds are slow to join in
As morning rises and the day beckons.

A Strawberry Eating Day

It is a strawberry eatin' day.
A day to wander down to a patch

An' just squat on your haunches
Maybe if the berries
Are real good an' abundant
We'll just sit right down
In the midst of them vines
Reachin' out all sorts of ways
Just a grabbin' handfuls
Stuffin' them in our mouths
Hungry for the sweetness
That runs down our chin
In our passion for summer
An' Strawberries.

Daddy Song from 2004

I wrote this a week after I lost my Daddy in 2004. As Father's Day approaches tomorrow I think of him as I often do on holidays, his birthday and other occasions. As a Christian I hold fast the promise of Heaven and know I will see him again someday.  I'm proud to be his son.

Heartache of heartaches,
My Daddy is gone.
My soul cries out to him
But no answer is heard.

He has cast off his frailty
Like an old worn shirt.
Yet I cling to the hollow,
Afraid to let go.

His spirit left this place,
Fled to the mountains of home.
Walked one more walk
'Neath the sweet sourwood blooms.

Washed his feet again
In the clear creeks up the holler
Ran like he did as a youngin'
Up the road to the homeplace.

Like a young deer his spirit
Jumps and leaps and runs free.
Clear eyes look at a cabin
Gone now for fifty years.

There, through the twilight
He sees the lights of home.
His loved ones wait, patient
Smiling at spirit found freedom.

My Daddy turns and sees us
Wants to say goodbye.
He waves like he always does
Then walks back up the holler.

His steps are easy now
There is strength anew.
He runs towards the lights of home
Turns once more, smiles.

"I'll be waitin'" he says
And grins his grin.
His eyes have a twinkle
Like he knows somethin' we don't

A few Saturday morning tidbits

Here are a couple pieces from the archives for a lovely Saturday morning:

 A piece of ragged verse called "Morning
http://www.mountainstories.net/2006/05/morning.html

Another simply titled "Sassafras"
http://www.mountainstories.net/2006/06/sassafras.html

Last of all, a short piece called "Good"
http://www.mountainstories.net/2006/05/good.html