Farm Reverie

 

First, our mother's farm, 

a dream realised. The pond,

a froggy chorus at nightfall,

chickens roosting in the trees,

our mother happily baking bread

and making big Sunday dinners.

Then my sister's, a succession of dogs 

in the yard and horses in the field, 

the arrival of a partner who made 

every inch of house and land 

even better. New horses,

the newest dog, patrol the grounds.

The trees still stand guard 

out the kitchen window

in their accustomed place,

reassuring in a world where

everything has changed.

The hills, the view, the peace

remain the same. So many years,

and still, when family think

of home, somewhere to return to

and gather, this is the place

we call the hub, our various

spokes poking out to

the wider world.