Hazy Acres

There is a token 

On the end cap 

Dangling 

Rusted gold 

Leafy rows of mustard green 

Smoke in the chimney 

Modest home on the hill 

Dirt road rhythms 

No alarms

There is an air 

Of its own 

On its own 

In the hallway that makes a sound 

Third row 

Weaker wood 

Dirty feet on a tip toe 

One asleep 

The other downstairs

As the sun slowly rises its favorite songs

Lyrics of orange and pink 

Yellows not far behind 

The blinding light

Back beyond the old out building 

Rolling hills dancing for generations 

Cast a wish 

Or a prayer 

Tie up those shoes 

And walk with your best friend 

Stable pups with consistent intentions

Lives that need less 

Voluntary simplicity 

Where dust is magic 

Trees dance in the storm

And you watch the bending road 

Maybe a visitor today 

Maybe not