Monday, October 27, 2008

Singing Pines




What food for the imagination those sounds were.

I imagined what it was like for the "pioneers" who came struggling through, looking for new lives in this strange land ... what it was like for those who were already here when those settlers came.

I gathered cones, of course, as so many children ... and adults ... had done through the ages.

I imagined that they were treasure ... that I was exploring some distant island ... while my ship sat in a quiet cove nearby, its massive sails catching the sunlight and a gentle tropical breeze.

And more cones.

How strange they were ... how plentiful ... fragrant ... and magical.

Oh, the memories I gathered in those early, carefree days.

And now, the poem:



SINGING PINES

Tall pines comb
the summer wind
for its soft music
while I linger,
savoring memories
of childhood days
rich with the smell
of gathered cones.
© 1995
(originally published in Capper's)

Today's word: savoring

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

I wonder where city kids imaginations takes them. Yours take me where I've been. I love what your poems stir up in my mind.

Anonymous said...

I do have better grammar than my coments indicate. It's a slip of the fingers.

Anonymous said...

I understand, Anonymous. Happens to me all the time ... a mere slip of the fingers doesn't spoil the effect of your visit ... or your comment. Thank you for stopping by.