Nostalgia

[alongtimegone]

I wrote and posted this under a different title two years ago. I came across it again recently and have rewritten parts of it and added an extra verse. The content, while embellished, a bit like those "Based on truth" movies, is I think fairly accurate of the lives of boys growing up in the suburbs of the 40s and 50s.

Nostalgia

I reach back to a childhood; to another time and place,
via photos cached in albums of my mind.
Where sun filled summer weekends set my eager soul to soar.
Where sparrow hawks and thermal winds combine.

Lost photos are reprinted in the darkrooms of my memory.
The skies are always blue; the grasses green.
Friendly faces; smiling eyes greet each one in passing.
Images of long ago, far away, serene.

It’s an untapped, carefree world of quiet dignity and grace,
where I venture; nothing scheduled planned or reasoned.
Where sustained by whim alone I tread the pathways of my roamings.
A veteran; practiced, battle scarred and seasoned.

And freedom? Never questioned; just as natural as breathing.
Another hill to climb; a creek to cross.
No thought to turning homeward before the shadows lengthen,
nothing ventured … nothing gained and nothing lost.

There are trees to climb and trails to blaze and lobby holes
to plunder. Butterflies to chase through morning haze.
Treasure chests to seek, on sandy sun bleached beaches,
gold in gullies; brand new trails to blaze

And there beside a stream, still unspoiled by hand of man,
I cast a wish, a hope, a quiet yearning.
Though success will not be measured by the content of the creel,
just the joy of life that each day I’m confirming.

And the images I conjure paint the dreamings of my night.
They return me to a calmer day and time.
A time of languid wanderings cross clover covered fields,
beneath a sea of close hauled clouds sublime.

And within these fleeting images, vignettes of time and space,
I roam; no page unturned; no song unsung.
‘Till sleep becomes my consort, my alliance, stalwart friend
and the peg on which my dream coat can be hung.

© Warren Cox 2014

[Shelley Hansen]

Delightful imagery Wazza!

Love this bit especially ...

Till sleep becomes my consort, my alliance, stalwart friend
and the peg on which my dream coat can be hung.

Cheers
Shelley