Nowhere and Everywhere

recycle Monday (Look at the original for a grammar fix.  Oops.)

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

It’s a tired old mountain surrounding us, a tired old man with bristly pine whiskers, who lays down on his side in rumpled clothes—lays down to sleep soundly, sinking deeper into the rocky Canadian Shield, a Rip Van slumber.

The flat valley below is laid out like crazy quilt blocks of lavender-touched green alfalfa and glistening grains, waving in breezes, Holstein Friesians dotting the landscape like fine stitches.

The long dirt lane leads nowhere and everywhere, but always home.  Home—a century-old, red brick, tin-roofed house that shelters six girls, one slightly spoiled boy, and an inventor-farmer who cherishes his Dorothy.

The doors are left unlocked to strangers, kids, and sometimes cats, and the phone rings a long and a short on the party line.  Flapping laundry stretches pole to pole in front of the new garage, awaiting desecration by a dirty combine, followed by sincerest apologies.

There’s a garden to weed and…

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About apronheadlilly

wife and mother, musician, composer / poet, teacher, and observer of the world, flawed Christ-follower
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