Saturday, July 27, 2013

Mountain Memory


Mountain rain wakes me, tapping on the roof
Like a child whispering
Like a memory whispering
Soothing and delicious to the mind,
Rain is the bedside chocolate
Wind is the mother’s milk
Fog is the warm aroma
Of the whispering leaves
Who rustle tenderly
Behind my eyes.
Moistening away the worry,
They say remember:
The smell of bright green grass
Soft as hair,
Pale brown apples too,
Fallen and sweet with bees,
The sharp perfume of hunting dogs
Asleep in their pen,
Last night’s fire, warm
Burnt and smoldering still.
Mist rolls down and through
The house windows
Across my morning bed.
Like a blanket, it says
And the waking rain murmurs

(Light rain in the mountains reminds me of my grandparents' home and yard where I visited often, over 40 years ago.)

copyright by the author

1 comment:

  1. Lovely poem, MK! It reminds me of when Mole visited Ratty and slept to the sound of the river.


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