She whispers my name... Only I can hear

Saturday, November 05, 2011

Road Less Traveled

Decommissioned by it’s own neglect
Going nowhere
Servicing none

This old road
Relic of a time past
Winds its way
Across the top of the hill

Finding gates
Through walls of stone
Now decrepit

Marking boundaries unseen
Unknown to all
But a secret past
Ghosts of pasture lay between

Tree roots crowd now
The rumor of plow
And of furrow
Hard wood in place
Of grain and silo

All now woods
Where the farmhouse once stood
Barn, stable and the rest
Here now hawks nest

The old road silently passes
Without judgment or complaint
Knowing full well, for the time
The farms made their stand
That the wind
And the rain were always in command

So now the old road steers
By my need for wood, kept clear
Having escaped mapmakers and historians
The memories of what once was here
Fading as am I

Into obscurity


Lydia said...

Oh, I loved this writing, these images. The tree all wrapped around itself...amazing. Amazing, too, is the way you are honoring the past of your property with posts like this.

It reminded me of a post of mine with a photo of a part of The Oregon Trail.

Citizen of Earth said...

Yes Lydia, there is history here
As deep as you can measure
From prohibition and the great depression
To the American Revolution
To the early settlers, pioneers, Native Americans
This house is about 100 years old, but the basement is over 300 years old
The root cellar from a much bigger farmhouse that once stood here
And the geology here goes back over two billion years in places.
Some of the oldest sedimentary rocks in the world are found here