Amidst the quiet wood, where never the sight of soul is seen,
where deep within the shadowed story, it seems,
there no one has been… ever…
Yet through the tangled brambles and vines wrapped to the dome so high,
when as the sun is setting soft, a clear rosed beam can aid the eyes –
and there amidst the quiet wood, it stood… as if a dream…
A cottage built of stone and stick, wholly swallowed in musty air,
entangled in the over growth, held in place with loving care –
Sitting still I gazed awhile until the dusky light let in
just the slightest edge of truth to the history there within.
As if enwrapped in elixir’s mirth, the day grew light before my eyes,
the clinging vines and woods there, resolved in finer lines –
The cottage path and gated wall, before me clearly stood,
an entry arch of river stone with coat of arms lined in green wood –
Walls of stone ran to the corners, set with rose and daffodil,
while lavender and scattered daisies revealed the caring of this fill –
The cottage, down a garden path, was set with stone, great beams of wood.
The porch and gable facings, of dovetail and a mason’s good
detailing at the window’s ledge.
Entranced, I rose, afraid to lose this dream state’s blessed gift,
yet slowly step, did I, toward the gate, silently adrift
in seas of timeless wonder –
The gate before me, of ancient wood, stood ajar inviting
all my senses to freedom’s grin, thus pulled me through with creaked enticing…
A cobbled garden path before me lay, a quiet welcomed girth,
twixt rose, gardenia and foxglove blooms,
fingered sun and fragrant mirth.
It seemed I floated toward the stoop, whose porch was blessed with swing and peace.
So there I sat with creaking chains, suspended in this dream so sweet –
As I sat and gently swayed, a reverent love enrobed me whole,
the sweetness of a “welcome home” bathed my heart and soul.
Eon’s may have passed, I fear, but not a fret was mine,
for from this place where smiled my soul, there was no sense of time –
but kind the loving left there, by whomever tendered this spot –
until the porch-side window fed my senses with a chicken pot
and scent upon the air,
a longing to “return”,
within the makings of this home,
to love and sweetness, I did yearn…
I left my perch to find the door,
hand hewn woods and hammered fittings,
gently knocked and pushed a tad,
to find myself inside, unwitting…
The light was golden and struck the sides of ancient dust suspended,
glittering in its gentle ride, as if for me intended –
The air was sweet with home cooked love, as if I’d find a stew a-brewing –
and through the simple rugs and chairs the shadows gently blue-ing.
A beam of golden sunset light embraced the kitchen’s hearth and stone,
and as I poked my nose there, no soul was found, but I was not alone –
Beside the hearth, a graying threshold stood,
nearly lost within the shadow, unique in hand hewn wood.
The scent of sweet tobacco beckoned my spirit “enter”,
and as my eyes began to see, my heart declared its center
amidst suspended smoke, left from ancient rest,
with bed and bureau quietly still, at bedside laid two shoes, and vest.
Upon the night stand, racked in dust, a dustless tin type photo stood –
a man, a woman, and a dog – at garden’s edge and wood –
As tho’ I were invited, I raised the photo to my eyes,
and from their kindest faces, I swear I heard the greenwoods sigh –
Her hand was wrapped in his, and tho’ they looked out from the frame,
it felt their eyes were locked on each other by the smiles and kindness lain.
Her eyes were deep in darkened hues, yet sparkled with a love
that only could have been for him, by a life blessed from above-
His were stern and determined, yet gentle in the lines there shown,
that I could tell his heart was hers, and he, her love alone.
The dog, a youthful grin portrayed, yet his colours showed him old and grey,
but this was is home by his look given, and no canine paradise could have beat this heaven –
It seemed as if I knew these three, the longer that I eyed the frame,
I felt a longing overcome my soul and knew I would be blessed in same –
A love so deep that time could not erase,
and truth so lived that even the woods, in decay, would embrace –
A soul so satisfied within the living that even long beyond the grave,
would continue and return with giving.
I know not how long I stood, or how I managed time –
but by the moment dusk was done,
again into the woods went I –
Witnessed there a lifetime’s mark,
the love of two and life of giving –
that stumbled upon in deepest wood,
did bless this one’s living –