I have so many more, but these will do for now. I wanted to show a dear friend of mine what the country side near my home looks like. I admit to taking most of the pics on top of a hill. Standing high on a hill seems the best place for picture taking and we have so many hills.
Also, the header at the top of the page was taken in Appalachia, about thirty minutes from my back door.
Savannah, I hope you like them!!!
I had the most amazing weekend
at Penn’s Store in Gravel Switch,
Kentucky. Heard beautiful words,
enchanting songs, met kindred spirits,
angelic voices, barefoot poets,
down home hearts and warm friendship.
I so plan to go again next year.
http://www.pennsstore.com/events/2010WDperformers.htm
Not all of Appalachia is coal miners with gaunt faces or
dirty babies with saggy diapers. It’s not all Dianne Sawyer’s
television special. Much of it is dogwoods in bloom,
morels on the mountains, laurels in spring.
It is willow trees and children on playgrounds,
churches in the groove and lights on a hill;
it is kudzu and honeysuckle, trumpet vines
and wild geese on green ponds, tobacco patches
and corn fields, saw mills and fishing ponds,
ancient burial grounds and sink holes,
caves and swamps. It is diverse and rich
with black dirt and crude oil. Appalachia,
ancient, haunting, home.
* I plan to post more pics over the next few days to share with my friends who live away from here.
I still hear your voice,
and a deep chuckle,
as you pause your mop
to tell me about the kid
who ran down the hall,
smacked his nose on
Marsha’s door,
two seconds after
you told him, “Stop running.”
I still see your bright eyes,
infectious smile,
knowing nod as you visit
my room after three,
lean against the table,
and assure me that my daughter
really is a good girl.
We laugh and you say
you’ve been working out.
I say you look great
and I think to myself
that greatness is you
within, without.
You called yourself
a custodian. My students
called you, Miss Julie.
I’m inclined to believe
that maybe you were
a heavenly messenger
sent to remind us
to love one another,
instead of dwelling
on imperfections,
to cherish the small things,
like grandbabies,
to give second chances,
and to measure success
by the kindnesses
we leave behind.
Daffodils are in bloom.
Plum tree scent drenches
the backyard and hyacinths
bathe the front, yet
I wander garden paths
like a wraith, lost spirit,
looking for something
permanent.
