An Autumn Sunday
Begins with visits by beloved family and friends,
The exodus of items no longer wanted.
A barren house laden with memories waiting for new ones.
In the distance, a tractor hums its harvest tune,
And the calls of Sandhill Cranes remind me of where I am in space and time.
A place I have loved since childhood.
Will the memories of my mother follow me to a strange place?
Or the smells which remind me of my grandmother’s kitchen fill a foreign space?
Will the sounds of a man whistling, or of farm machinery beckon a vision of my father working on land not in Michigan?
I am glad my children never lived here.
I will find them in their own states, far from the
Cider mills and forgotten trails of home, new adventures
Beckoning in the few years of time left.
Wasted on feeble reminiscing
Note: Betty, Joan, Kirk and Liz came to say goodbye before we left for California.
Suzie, how moving. I miss you and the days we used to sit on the sofa at Woolbearers. Hope you and family are all well. The best, Phyllis
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