Scenes of my childhoodcome into view:
Long walks on gravel roads,with warm jellied mud
teasing its way throughdeep crevices of bare feet.
Fields of checkerboardcrisp spinach-green blades
whipping their way through weed and chaff.
Row upon row of fresh plowed ginger-brown ground;
each mound grasping for seed.Randomly bordering between fields
pillars of gravel stonesheaped upon each other
by great-grandfather’s hands,weary with the task
of clearing the land.Lean, naked trees stand like
silhouettes of long arms reaching
for a sky of cotton ball clouds
tinged with a firmament of blue.
In the meadow a winding stream trickles
its way through bulwarks of broken limbs,
stopping only to gurgle at each little Niagara,
until an undercurrent whishes in
whispering “follow me.”In a knoll of gumdrop hills
a picture frame settingof viral red barn,
with offspring ofcorncribs, sheds, and smokehouse,
an ivy-laced home of ruffled curtained windows.
All standing patiently stillfor the photographers
click of the shutter.Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to everyday stories.
