Down our narrow lane, turn right.
One more Indian summer day,
even this late in November.
A red-headed woodpecker beckons,
pecking away at a topless tree.
Almost at hill’s crest, a young girl, her mother
and small brother stocking the farm stand.
Their century-old clapboard house sits off
to the side, reminding me of the house
where I lived at her age. We wave. She’s barefoot,
minding her brother like I would have been, marooned
on our wooded parcel, eager to see someone new.
In the 40’s my father bought the house
by silent bid, $525 for the doctor’s old residence
on the White Earth Indian Reservation,
might be called Native American now.
He dug out a full basement on eighty acres
given to him by his father, then moved his proud
acquisition the short distance by hay wagon.
Walking back down the hill, a red-tailed hawk
floats by; I call up and she circles overhead
in a spiral of recognition. A deer watches
as I pass by the neighbor’s back fence,
undecided to bolt. I reassure him.
I think he knows my voice,
he a daily visitor to our home.
© by Carolyn Chilton Casas.
Used with the author’s permission.
Carolyn Chilton Casas is a Reiki Master, practitioner and teacher, and a student of metaphysics and philosophy. She lives on the central coast of California, where she enjoys writing stories and poetry, reading, traveling, hiking, and playing beach volleyball.
Posted 11/28/2020 08:58 PM
This poem keeps our colorful and often work-laden past in play . . . full of animals, birds and aromas. We're back there . . . nicely done, Carolyn.
Posted 11/28/2020 11:13 AM
Sharon Waller Knutson:
I love this picturesque nostalgia poem.
I recognize the redheaded woodpecker, hawk and the deer. They are regular visitors at my home too.
Posted 11/28/2020 10:36 AM
A beautiful moment visiting your memory lane.
Posted 11/28/2020 10:10 AM
This poem is a total immersion in a moment. I wonder where the rest of my life went as I was reading this.
Posted 11/28/2020 08:28 AM
I love ?a spiral of recognition.?
Posted 11/28/2020 07:54 AM