Those we love don't go away
They walk beside us every day
Unseen, unheard but always near
Still loved, still missed and very dear.
Where the house and barns once stood, there's now only cleared land. A stooped and broken trunk is all that remains of a tall proud magnolia tree that once supported hundreds of dark green leafy branches sprinkled with white velvet blooms. I was four-years-old when my father hung a swing from one of the thickest branches. Sitting on that sturdy hand-made wooden seat, small hands holding a rope on either side, leaning way back in an attempt to make the swing go higher and higher, I could feel the ends of my hair brushing across leaves on the ground as Daddy's laughter mingled with my own.
February 17, 2010
Home is many miles beyond my reach now, still, I travel old familiar roads in my dreams
Starting up Wye Mountain, easing around curves that stopped feeling dangerous half-a-century ago, my car climbs higher and higher until I come out on top of the mountain and reach a level stretch of highway that carries me past six acres of yellow blossoms.
When daffodils fade from my rear view mirror and the road begins its downward spiral, I know I'm within twelve miles of a place that no longer exists except in the hearts of two children grown old.
It will hurt to see the emptiness. "Don't look," I caution myself, but it's too late.
Where the house and barns once stood, there's now only cleared land. A stooped and broken trunk is all that remains of a tall proud magnolia tree that once supported hundreds of dark green leafy branches sprinkled with white velvet blooms. I was four-years-old when my father hung a swing from one of the thickest branches. Sitting on that sturdy hand-made wooden seat, small hands holding a rope on either side, leaning way back in an attempt to make the swing go higher and higher, I could feel the ends of my hair brushing across leaves on the ground as Daddy's laughter mingled with my own.
Seven decades have gone by since that swing flew through the air, making a small girl squeal with delight. The rope, the board, the tree limb and the magic moment have faded almost beyond recognition ...
Driving away from the home place, I cross railroad tracks where sweat from my daddy's brow once soaked the ties, and I continue past Alvin Short's old-old Grocery store location, straight ahead, around one more slow curve and there's the cemetery.
Strolling among moss-covered tombstones, I see familiar names that touched and shaped the days of my youth.Raw sod and fresh flowers mark the recent death of my brother's best friend. When Lee was lowered into this final resting place, a part of Ken's heart went with him.
Kneeling beside my daddy's grave, unsteady fingers touch lush green grass that's covered him more than twenty years now ...
Gentle winds bring echoes of laughter
from a long-ago magnolia tree.
(email: MelindaGerner@yahoo.com)
