On a paper route I had as a
kid, creeping through the dark
before dawn, flinging
the news at silent porches,
ducking from shadow to
shadow, imagining heroes
and villains in equal measure
around every corner,
studying unknown profiles
with interest as the slowly
rising light revealed mowers,
lawn furniture, and garish gnomes,
one house stood out to me
every single morning as
I stole past it,
the smell of apples and
spices seeping from its
walls year round, a tiny
log cabin surrounded by
a seductively scented miasma and
the sentinels of fruit trees,
windows glowing softly
even in those early hours.
I imagined a kindly grandmother,
a white witch, or a Hansel and
Gretel scene lurked within.
Inhaling deeply, I crept past to
the next house, as that little
home didn't even subscribe.
(Posted to Monday Poetry Train #136, 8/29/11 and
The Poetry Palace, Thursday Poets Rally Week 50, 8/30/11
and Theme Thursday, "Memory", 9/15/11)
Very nice. Loved the imagery. :)
ReplyDelete"before dawn, flinging
the news at silent porches,
ducking from shadow to
shadow, imagining heroes
and villains in equal measure
around every corner"
WOW! I loved this...I used to deliver early morning papers with my brother. Those thoughts were the thoughts of a kid who feels and thinks deeply!
ReplyDeleteThis brings back my own imaginings when I was a paperboy lo many moons ago. This put one in the scene looking and smelling the aura of the route and ended with sweet irony.
ReplyDeleteLarry
bless you.
ReplyDeletebeautiful exercises.
Brilliant...brilliant imagery. Really captured the feeling of nostalgia for me, reminded me of the adventure films I'd watch as a child in the 80's
ReplyDeleteVery sweet story. Enjoyable to read! :) I can almost feel the smell of cinnamon now...
ReplyDeleteVivid descriptions.And that conclusion...so unexpected.
ReplyDeleteRosie@travel-i-tales
that house sounds wonderful and a tad mysterious./
ReplyDeleteI love the ending :)
ReplyDelete