She resides in the attic,
Dressed with cobwebs and smiles,
She waits patiently for her husband and sons to come home.
This year, the harvest provided the biggest and reddest of apples.
Next door, the pear tree produced none.
Upon the ridge is the steady flow of traffic,
No more horse carriages and first time cars getting stuck in the mud.
The house she lives in was built in 1924. Protecting all that come in
and humming to herself as she prepares a meal.
The house that still is blessed with it's original wood work and that Swedish charm.
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Many pieces torn into shreds, year by year. Fragile bits cracking gently but never mending. To the core that binded never was. We traveled... -
Forgive me for being on this fast track, This train keeps passing the stations I’m suppose to be getting off. A night here in paradise h...
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Time did not stand still It shaped its road for us to leave the past To rain soaked pavements, fallen leaves, high altitudes underneath the ...
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