Winter White Barn

.

Among forgotten
pasture, October winds colder
than a whisper of icicles

our home of fallen timbers
weather-ravaged, a sanctuary for
mice, other creatures

sky peeking through
lingering apple trees, pussy willows
pouting along a muddy bank

an album of memories
reminisce . As children we swam
in the creek, chased cows
fed pigs, minded
chickens

helped momma and poppa,
busy with chores. Us growing into
city folk a long time ago.

The Old Family Farm
by
Richard Provencher