The Horseshoe Creek

The dirt road stretched miles,
nearly two hours of bumpy ride.
what draws us there again and again?

The sitting black boulders on the hillside,
the twitching ears, slow-moving maws,
and the grayed cow-pies, the signs of life
of the boulders. The ghostly dwellings,
undying ladies of the Silver Mine in its hay days,
 
the tattered white curtains of the broken windows,
waving in the winds, welcome the passersby;
as the old school bell rings of silent call
for the shouting and laughing children.
a little yellow butterfly suddenly appears
flutters away ahead,
as the distant mountain of forests smiles,
like grandpa at the Senior Living Place.

Swoosh of clammers of the pines, and
cluck-cluck of wild turkeys sauntering near
by the creek that sings the deep water and
the hidden school of fish; simple, fresh feature
of the place, whirling deep sense of comfort;
the generous Mother Nature's rec. center;
we toss a line, have a picnic, and so on,
and leave, and come again, and again. 

©Byung A. Fallgren