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.".

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.

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".

Old Dog

Old dog sits and waits
Not allowed inside
Weary and lost
Looking for his master
Not knowing he has gone
To that undiscovered country
But waiting and willing
To follow when he's called.