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Memory of Summer | Herbal Academy | This poem remenises of summers past.
3 Jun 2016

Memory of Summer

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When I was a young girl, we would take our yearly summer trip to visit my grandparent’s house. They lived in South Georgia where dirt roads gently suggested a way through the landscape. The drive up to their house was a dusty one; to pass the time, we would hang our arms out of the car windows. After allowing the air to manipulate their movement, we would pull them back in to find them covered in red clay, the tiny hairs raised up, cemented wherever the winds had placed them.

Our mornings began with a large breakfast that featured the fresh eggs we had recently gathered from the hens. After breakfast, it was chores: slopping pigs with leftovers, cleaning fish that had been caught that morning, picking tomatoes, and preparing lunch (an even bigger meal). When all was done, we would sit together on the front porch; if I was lucky I got to sit on the large swing next to grandma or grandpa.

Memory of Summer | Herbal Academy | This poem reminisces of summers past.

As I write this poem, I reminisce of the sweetest thoughts and my mind methodically rocks back and forth with the rhythm of that swing. Those short summer trips began in me a soulful song. I now have my own farm, and every time I go to collect the eggs, or pluck a fresh cherry tomato from its vine, I think of my grandparent’s and I thank them for the Memory of Summer.

 

Memory of Summer

Our old truck whines and grunts

As it welcomes the embrace

Of a familiar dirt road.

 

Windows drink the warm, humid air,

Enters that sweet earthy taste,

Cherry tomatoes to taste buds flow.

 

A stark white farmhouse

And a front porch swing

Resting upon those lush greens

 

A landscape that cures

The yearning heart,

Delivering the anxious

A moment serene.

 

Red clay clings to

Imagination’s game,

Arms trace the sky.

 

Sun’s blazing passion,

Its rays long to never

Have to say good-bye.

 

That old porch swing

Sings us soothing lullabies,

While the humming of fans

Tucks you in at night.

 

Collecting eggs,

Feeding pigs, and

The taste of Earth’s colors.

 

My soul’s joyful ballad

Serenades this memory;

The notes rooted within,

Bloom every summer.

 

What is one of your most precious memories of summer?