An Autumn Sunday

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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 IMG_1135
Cider mills and forgotten trails of home, new adventures
Beckoning in the few years of time left.
Wasted on feeble reminiscing

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Note: Betty, Joan, Kirk and Liz came to say goodbye before we left for California.