past echoes

There is an oddness in the distance
faceless voices
disappearing 
between the rush of cars
Years ago, it would have been a herd of cattle

running for the lunch bell
on the road
, past my house

I sit on the front porch
perched on a yellow plastic Adirondack chair
drinking wine from a tumbler
pretending it’s a brown bag
and fantasizing I don’t have to work

Those faraway voices 
echo now
like dairy farmers’ spirits
loading Bessie’s milk onto Old Erie railroad cars
bound for the city

Retired sounds 
I imagine floating up
to the sun that once fed the cows golden grass

The birds, the flitty ones
with bright yellow bellies like my chair
flutter by my porch

saying their good nights or goodbyes
depending on how cold
this early autumn eve turns

warbler

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18 thoughts on “past echoes

  1. We’ve both got wine-drinking in our posts tonight — hmm. 😎 Your words are so lovely here, AM; they take me to a place and time, I’m there, transported to that porch and whisked back in time too. I love the wistfulness, that contemplative nature of changing Mother Nature (autumn … sorry, I worked myself into a corner here and can’t get out, lol). And may I say, I wish you didn’t have to work either. Finally, what a gorgeous little yellow bird, simply and delicately superb. Reading your post here tonight I feel as though I’m watching the season turn. Beautiful.

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