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Words like rain
Words from my soul don’t easily flow from this pen to this paper They swirl around in my head through my eyes, they drip like tears rain falling from the sky landing on leaves of paper finding a path down to the ground they fall scattered and random creating pattern out of chaos a pattern that only makes sense to itself to nature to the universe to God.
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Sunshine and a Wringer Washer
Isn’t it strange how sounds can take you back in time. Whenever I wash clothes and hear the sound of the washer agitating it takes me back through the generations of women in my family. I remember my grandmother, my Nanny, sorting clothes on the kitchen floor on laundry day. Lights, darks, towels, sheets, jeans, and whites to be bleached. Those were the piles she chose. She had a harvest gold washer right between the sink and the stove and the dryer was on the back porch. She would only use the dryer in the winter otherwise the clothes hung on the line in the backyard. The dryer…
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Mist Hangs Low in the Hollers
Sunday. A rainy dreary winter Sunday here in Appalachia. The kind of day you just want to stay in bed. The kind of day that depression thrives on. You just want to pull your covers over your head and not even look out the window. Its the kind of day where the cold mist hangs low in the hollers and everything takes on this feeling of dampness. The smell of graveyard dirt permeates the air and your mind wonders to tales of ghosts and demons. It is the kind of day that if you dwell on it it will dig deep into your soul, find the loneliness, and take root.
