The luminescence of low hanging mist whirls
Agitated winds shiver the tall cottonwoods
The ever present sound of the old river passing
She stands on the small rustic pier daydreaming
Watching the waters carry an old tugboat south
She waves as the captain sounds his sad horn
A breeze catches the hem of her dress, lifting it upward
Her long slender legs and bare feet exposed to morning rays
A single teardrop falls from her troubled eye
She knows she will soon be leaving this magical place
Traveling far to the western desert, and away from her folks
She turns and leaves, making her way up the wet path
She ponders her anxious future amid the vines of honeysuckle
The smell of bacon soon fills her senses as her home appears
Smoke curling down from the antique stone chimney
Porch steps squeak, the screen door slaps, she has decided
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Photo by writeemcowboy.com
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