Today the yearning hit me again.
It hit my heart
like a stabbing, this
yearning of home.
I feel this tug on my heart
when I think of my childhood forest,
it's graceful magnolias,
long-needled pine trees so tall,
and the mountains...
Oh the mountains!
Not craggy and granite,
but soft and smoky
old mountains and foothills
full of surprises.
Once my grandmother and I
found an ancient moonshine still,
copper tubing half buried
in the red, clay earth.
In another life,
I must have been a woodland creature
But now I am in the suburbs
and I feel the pang of
separation.
* The author expresses her regret at such maudlin sentiments, but feels a need to write her feelings and drink her bottle of wine in peace.
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