A crop of cauliflower and carrots,
a dream of an unshaken patch of land,
far from the city,
bad weather and good,
brewing up liquor in the shed,
ploughing the soil easy as combing hair,
crystal on the dresser table,
deer on the forest’s edge,
know everybody in town
but can drive for miles
without seeing the one of them,
pine trees and elms,
water from a well or the river,
giving up convenience
for just about everything else,
homemade shed,
mountains in the background,
jams on a shelf,
painting my own timbers,
chickens and pigs,
potatoes, rabbits, dirt roads,
pies made from scratch,
snow globe family heirloom,
always something unusual happening,
where seeing is only half there is
to believing,
dining out on the air
that’s available at every window.


© by John Grey.
Used with the author’s permission.