It's vacant now, two stories of red brick memories,The land ready for greenhouse expanse
And the home depleted like the nature around it.
Once surrounded by generous trees
Of maple, white birch, and spruce
Now only a canopy of leafy memories.
My mother tended bountiful gardens
With a palette full of hot summer colours
Matching the vibrant harvest around the fifty acre sandy farm,
a cornucopia of potatoes, tomatoes, and peppers.
The barn and yard are gone now
Where we circled with our bikes
And played catch against the large barn door.
My mother in the kitchen of cinnamon buns and zwieback
My father adding new straw for horse and cow,
Feeding the gaggling roost and
Changing the oil in trundling tractors.
The living room of Blue Mountain pottery
The TV room and piano an intersection of family collisions,
And the front porch providing cool in the evening
With the wind caressing the floating birch leaves.
The house stands stark now
But it's clothed in canopied reverie .
This is my submission to Magpie Tales #29 ,childhood memories of home.
