The country store
has stood sentry for over a century.
Now worn and tired,
...
This young child
by the name of Grace,
was born into poverty
...
The temperature chills,
Early morning starts to fog.
Hot, sleepless nights,
...
Whose woods these are
he did not know.
The road less traveled
...
You could hear the sound
of the gently falling snow
late this Christmas day
...
The visit was brief
though it felt like hours on
this cold bitter day
...
The dream continued
each and every evening.
The cold nights at the Vermont inn
...
I first saw
the Victorian woman
faintly through the century old glass
...
This crisp October day,
As dawn succumbs to night,
I venture out alone,
And contain such fright,
...
As I stare at the decades old photograph
into the eyes of my Grandmother I can not
help but to think of the life she once lived
...
A death certificate and
sepia toned photographs too,
all that remains of a life
...
Country Store
The country store
has stood sentry for over a century.
Now worn and tired,
beautiful in a simple way.
Each floor board
worn smooth as if polished
by the soles of
many a Victorian boot.
The smell of
fresh bread and roasted coffee
mix with
burning apple wood in the stove
bringing back memories
of a bygone era
when life was simple
and simple was life…