NEW BEGINNINGS
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2011 7:58 am
NEW BEGINNINGS
Maureen Clifford © 09/11
In a bowl were white peaches, green apples, bananas,
on the dresser a vase held red roses displayed.
The small timber cottage had wisteria rambling
across the verandahs’ where small children played.
Black coffee was bubbling, you heard ironbark crackling
away in the wood stove – split red logs, well dried.
The stallion and mares were grazing near the old bridge,
the sunlight reflected from their shining hides.
This place was the sanctuary that they had chosen
far away from the city - a last minute change
where the scenery was pretty, the air fresh and clean,
they were clearing the clutter; felt it fair exchange
for removing the stress from their lives – gaining freedom
from lifestyles where all now seemed bent out of shape.
They enjoyed having time to drink freshly brewed coffee
as their children played ‘neath green vines laden with grape.
Summer in the city was now just a memory.
Trapped heat reflecting back from pavements and walls,
with streets always busy with cars, trucks and buses
and tiny backyards with no room to kick balls.
Out here they had acres and acres of paddocks,
four horses, two dogs, one brown calf and a lamb.
Some chickens for eggs and a pig they called Bacon
though doubtful it was that he’d ever be ham.
All was right with their world though they’d not the convenience
of movies, and swimming pools, beaches or bars,
but they both revelled in the unfettered relationship
shared daily with nature and nightly with stars.
The kids health was better- no trace now of asthma -
and bored they were not, for they had room to play.
The fact they must drive for one hour to the corner store
both thought was really such a small price to pay.
Maureen Clifford © 09/11
In a bowl were white peaches, green apples, bananas,
on the dresser a vase held red roses displayed.
The small timber cottage had wisteria rambling
across the verandahs’ where small children played.
Black coffee was bubbling, you heard ironbark crackling
away in the wood stove – split red logs, well dried.
The stallion and mares were grazing near the old bridge,
the sunlight reflected from their shining hides.
This place was the sanctuary that they had chosen
far away from the city - a last minute change
where the scenery was pretty, the air fresh and clean,
they were clearing the clutter; felt it fair exchange
for removing the stress from their lives – gaining freedom
from lifestyles where all now seemed bent out of shape.
They enjoyed having time to drink freshly brewed coffee
as their children played ‘neath green vines laden with grape.
Summer in the city was now just a memory.
Trapped heat reflecting back from pavements and walls,
with streets always busy with cars, trucks and buses
and tiny backyards with no room to kick balls.
Out here they had acres and acres of paddocks,
four horses, two dogs, one brown calf and a lamb.
Some chickens for eggs and a pig they called Bacon
though doubtful it was that he’d ever be ham.
All was right with their world though they’d not the convenience
of movies, and swimming pools, beaches or bars,
but they both revelled in the unfettered relationship
shared daily with nature and nightly with stars.
The kids health was better- no trace now of asthma -
and bored they were not, for they had room to play.
The fact they must drive for one hour to the corner store
both thought was really such a small price to pay.
