Thursday, December 3, 2015

The Village



Caught between hills of summer green
And winter’s pristine white
The Village is a throwback to
A simpler kind of life
…where steepled church and Peopled walks
And clothes-line’s lilting tune
Are more than an idyllic plot
In fancy’s Brigadoon



The arbors there wear flowered lace
Its summer-child, no shoes
The general store a meeting place
To catch up on the news
…and no one is a stranger there
But rather, family
Lemonade afternoons are shared
Beneath the willow tree


Mothers wear aprons with pockets
These hold a handkerchief
To wipe the nose of freckled Fred
Or tears from Peggy’s cheek
…and on the quiet, country air
Of twilight’s waning scrim
Its hush may bear the whistled lay
Of an old favored hymn

The street is shared with ponied carts
Progress, a word for books
Trundled in picnic baskets
To a haven by the brook
…where caught between soft hills of green
Or winter’s silent night
The Village is a throwback to
The very best of life

© Janet Martin

We lost a piece of The Village.

The village I refer to is the one I grew up in…
I live on the outskirts now,
The store is gone,
The church is empty
…but the clotheslines still lilt,
The farmers still whistle,
And the people are still as friendly as can be,
We all say ‘we should meet more often’,
Then rush on to where we are going…

 These photos are tidbits from two local villages, one mine and the other my sister's...
Their general store is in full business!

These two photos taken by Ashley Curry

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