POEM: The simple life

by Hugh S. Brunson III

Staring at a blank page, trying to purge my thoughts, allowing me to se that which is not here. I am at a coffee house but my mind is somewhere else, drifting back to pay homage to the sights, smells, sounds of my youth… Light-colored days, the blue sky filled with puffy white clouds, a golden shine touches all, even the shadows. Crispness of the grass, what a delicate sweet odor, a thriving garden between the houses, a hint of bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches upon the wind. If you are in my family, you know what it means, sweet corn processing. Shucking corn underneath the oak tree, women’s voices drifting from the “play house”. Even the children have a place amongst them, scraping, packing, counting the pints and quarts. I can see them. Can you? Is it right for me to disappear? The band is good tonight, they should be getting my full attention. But, my Dad just walked in, another moment in time… A hot, humid summer’s day, I can sense the mood in the house. Dad just walked in, sweat pouring and exhausted. A quick change and off we go. The trip is not too far, a slow walk, a splash into the cool brownish black waters of a country boy’s swimming pool. Spent many a day just disappearing from life, building the best drip castles, hunting for fresh water clams, to just making fish faces in the water. Always on the lookout for wildlife. Deer, ducks, fish, snakes and the South’s “#1 bird”…the ungrateful mosquito. The night is still young and I am sure that each of you could fill a page of imagination, especially from your childhood. The times of simplicity, of just taking a trip down memory late… I am at: The pasture, picking pears, The pond, doing some fishing, Across from my Dad, picking butterbeans, In Murrells Inlet, swimming with my Mom, Pulling a seine net, opposite from my grandmother, Building a fire, to just melt into the flames, Saying goodbye to man’s best friend. To just being there to make the memories of living an ordinary life.

Author: Rachel Howell

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