the key

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Home, imagined, comes to be. It is real, realer than any other place, but you can’t get to it unless your people show you how to imagine it  – whoever your people are. They may not be your relatives. They may never have spoken your language. They may have been dead for a thousand years. They may be nothing but words printed on paper, ghosts of voices, shadows of minds. But they can guide you home.”

 

~ Ursula K. Le Guin

 

 

 

 

 

in her house

 

 

 

 

 

“Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs”

~ George Eliot

 

 

 

 

 

 

drive in

 

 

 

 

summer nights
we’d pile in the back of dad’s station wagon
in our pajamas
equipped with blankets, pillows and paper bags full of junk food
and fall asleep halfway through the feature

 

 

 

 

 

 

giving way

 

 

 

 

 

“How long before the eaves gave way
to the sky, or the bathroom floor
was jack-hammered to bone,
while the trees outside were left
to redirect the wind?

How quickly the den must have become more kitchen
and bedrooms lost their privacy. I see the books
we’d packed up and moved years ago
under a pile of fresh rubble, still sending off dust—

titles stunned to a babble
in gold leaf.”

~ Kristen Henderson

 

 

 

 

 

 

fishing buds

 

 

 

 

 

Joe and his pal are regulars on Comet Pond
although they have fished many lakes and ponds across New England
this is home for them
on this day they greeting me with happy faces
as Joe had just caught the biggest trout of the day
often the best part of exploring small towns and backroads
is the people (and animal friends) I meet along the way