I breathe it all in. I know this place and I honor it's time, it's past, it's present and it's future. The Avenson Farm; I am swaddled within it's rich history.
It is early morning and I sit on the home porch. A new home as the original is long but gone. The home of old stories and tales is replaced by another that will certainly build moments for new stories and new perspectives.
The cool breeze plays with my toes and blows my hair from face; I take in the aroma of the coffee and immerse myself in sound. A cow in the distance welcomes the morning while a loon counters it's response with it's wailing laugh and mournful cry. Tractors performing morning tasks with drivers already accepting the bustle of the day and a bedlam of birds competing with the next for most vibrant sound.
My infant son sleeps, unaware of the historic place he lays his head.
My senses are alive with dynamic fusion and my eyes take it all in. This farm, that was at one time, just as active as the distant tractors i now hear. The early risings, the big and fattening lunches and late suppers; all prepared by a mother of 9. In her part, supporting the family industry. Presently, this place is satiated with ghostly remnants of the past; forever being memorialized by conversation, pictures, and physical reminders.
It is early morning and I sit on the home porch. A new home as the original is long but gone. The home of old stories and tales is replaced by another that will certainly build moments for new stories and new perspectives.
The cool breeze plays with my toes and blows my hair from face; I take in the aroma of the coffee and immerse myself in sound. A cow in the distance welcomes the morning while a loon counters it's response with it's wailing laugh and mournful cry. Tractors performing morning tasks with drivers already accepting the bustle of the day and a bedlam of birds competing with the next for most vibrant sound.
My infant son sleeps, unaware of the historic place he lays his head.
My senses are alive with dynamic fusion and my eyes take it all in. This farm, that was at one time, just as active as the distant tractors i now hear. The early risings, the big and fattening lunches and late suppers; all prepared by a mother of 9. In her part, supporting the family industry. Presently, this place is satiated with ghostly remnants of the past; forever being memorialized by conversation, pictures, and physical reminders.
My eyes veer off and smile at the large pines my husband once played hide and seek in as a small child.
In a slow, steady gate, Dan and his yellow lab, Connor, walk in quiet rhythm to the old barn.
My gaze is affixed on them, but short lived when my daughter emerges from the house. I turn to look at her, take another sip of coffee and welcome her to sit and take this morning in to build upon new memories and new experiences at the Avenson Farm.
My time is cut short. The morning still lingers and the cool breeze fills my soul like that of good, morning coversation. The quietness of time is being filled by sounds of breakfast being made, cinamon rolls being fought over and my infant son cooing in the bedroom below.
Another morning, another evening, and another time of reflection.
No comments:
Post a Comment