I close my eyes and I can still see the way the tiny particles of dust
danced within sunlight streams, spilling through gaps of old in the loft of that hip roof barn.
Where many hours of childhood bliss were passed
amongst the sweet scent of dried grass, warm and tickling against our skin.
In the quiet of this memory I can still hear the soft coo of pigeons
perched way up high in the rafters overhead
the quick, sudden flutter of wings as they flit from one beam to another.
I feel the comforting vibration of kitten warmth in lap of legs crossed Indian style.
I feel the wonderful sense of belonging amongst the voices of my brothers, sisters... family.
These companions that call back and forth to one another
through tunnels of bales, dark and dusky, we'd built for each other
...our play homes.
I remember, too, some days when the sun would not shine
and the rain would pour down, pitter-patter on roof of tin
and the only light shone dimly
from single bulb above.
Then we would fly on rope secured way up overhead.
Soar from top of stack to dusty boards below and back up again,
clinging desperately, but with delight,
to that length of braided string.
Within the sanctuary of this place, these moments ran deep.
I was free. Safe to be myself...Complete.
Is not this what we all long for?
Why memories such as these are so sweet?
danced within sunlight streams, spilling through gaps of old in the loft of that hip roof barn.
Where many hours of childhood bliss were passed
amongst the sweet scent of dried grass, warm and tickling against our skin.
In the quiet of this memory I can still hear the soft coo of pigeons
perched way up high in the rafters overhead
the quick, sudden flutter of wings as they flit from one beam to another.
I feel the comforting vibration of kitten warmth in lap of legs crossed Indian style.
I feel the wonderful sense of belonging amongst the voices of my brothers, sisters... family.
These companions that call back and forth to one another
through tunnels of bales, dark and dusky, we'd built for each other
...our play homes.
I remember, too, some days when the sun would not shine
and the rain would pour down, pitter-patter on roof of tin
and the only light shone dimly
from single bulb above.
Then we would fly on rope secured way up overhead.
Soar from top of stack to dusty boards below and back up again,
clinging desperately, but with delight,
to that length of braided string.
Within the sanctuary of this place, these moments ran deep.
I was free. Safe to be myself...Complete.
Is not this what we all long for?
Why memories such as these are so sweet?
:::::
This poem was written by me in response to another challenge going on over at Seedlings in Stone. L.L. gave us the phrase, "I close my eyes and I can still see"... and asked us to write.
I have done so, and I hope you have enjoyed. (smile)
:::::
Above photo taken of a painting I own by Jim Daly. I pray that memories such as these will be instilled within my own three precious boys.
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Posts
Love the painting and love the poem! How freeing it must be to express yourself this way! Beautiful, Katrina!!
ReplyDeleteI haven't written poetry in years. I may have to try it again at some point:)
You painted a picture so well there. What an enviable setting for a childhood.
ReplyDeleteOh Katrina, Such sweet memories, now captured, written down for those to come. I echo your prayer...
ReplyDeleteEnjoy your Sabbath, my sweet friend.
Carrie
O O O !!! I remember that too! This is a wonderful poem! What memories it brings back!
ReplyDeleteOh, so beautiful, Katrina! Such warm feelings evoked by your words. Longing for happy times...carefree ways of childhood. So lovely. This poetry thing seems to flow naturally for you...
ReplyDelete:)laura
through the eyes of a child moments become part of his/her biology. you have captured what still lives strong in you. beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI could close my eyes and imagine it with you, the words are so vivid. Such security and peace you have penned.
ReplyDeleteYou did do a good job. I could see you playing in the barn. Sounded like fun!
ReplyDeleteKatrina,
ReplyDeleteHow beautiful this is! I felt so warm and good reading it. I am drawn to your photography and your writing as well.
Katrina. Katrina!
ReplyDeleteI see it all. I too remember such days and the soft coo of pigeons in the rafters (at a dear friend's barn... how I loved that place!)
Things I particularly love here...
the single bulb
the length of braided string
the juxtaposition of comfort and threat (sun versus rain, bare bulb versus warmth of sun, a length of rope that is finite in a place that feels eternal).
On a totally different note, I kind of jumped inside when I saw your photo here "quiet walks on snowy evenings." For some reason it looks like me from the back and I felt as if I were looking in some strange mirror. (Oh, and now I'm thinking if you don't mind I might use that photo at High Calling Blogs to illustrate this week's poetry Friday post. Which brings me to another note... would you consider joining High Calling Blogs. This is their join page...
http://highcallingblogs.com/join/
L.L., Yes I will join High Calling Blogs, thank you for inviting me. :o)
ReplyDeleteI would love to say that that image is one that I took but, it's not. It just grabbed my attention because it also could be me from behind! ( I have long wavy black hair, as well) *Blush* I HOPE I haven't done something wrong by taking that image to put on my blog... if you click on the image both in my side bar and in the post that I used it in... http://simplelifemoments.blogspot.com/2008/11/on-quiet-evening-walk.html
it will take you to the source from where I found it in Google images. However, I'm not even sure if it belongs to her...
Are you more familiar with what is allowed and what is not as far as using images? I am glad you asked about this one before using it or I would have been REALLY embarrassed!
Oh, I'm glad I asked too. : ) Usually when one uses an image, permission is needed. But many people won't mind as long as you provide credit and a link.
ReplyDeleteI love reading your poetry, fresh-tried... and how it is like tracks new-laid in snow.
And here I am with my High Calling hat on (do you like the feathers and ferns? : ) to say...
ReplyDeletewelcome to High Calling Blogs.
Katrina,
ReplyDeleteThe dim light from single bulb above and the pitter pat on roof of tin. Those are the images that jumped out at me evoking a wondrous place of childhood sanctuary. Thanks for writing and sharing.
Hi Katrina, I think you've got the 'seeing' part down. I could clearly see this barn and the activities you described in my mind. This was my favourite part:
ReplyDeleteThen we would fly on rope
secured way up overhead.
Soar from top of stack
to dusty boards below
and back up again,
clinging desperately,
but with delight,
to that length of braided string.
Such freedom! This was wonderful.
Katrina, I love your poems! I haven't written a poem in almost forever.
ReplyDeleteThis poem totally brings back those wonderful hayloft days!! Such fun! Even if I have an itchy straw rash later that evening :o)!
Loved my few moments swinging on the rope in your childhood barn. Swinging on ropes --what a fun memory.
ReplyDeleteThe hay tickled my nose. You are getting this poetry thing. Well done.
ReplyDeleteThese words: "spilling through gaps of old" capture it all. Sunshine (and rain) moments slipping in through crevices of your amazing memory to shower on us. Guess we shouldn't bemoan all the cracks in us, for the broken places allow God's beauty and grace to flood through. This was precious.
ReplyDeleteYour pictures are so poignant, but you create a truly clear picture with your words- that's amazing!
ReplyDeleteKatrina, just to let you know, this was featured today on High Calling Blogs.
ReplyDeleteThanks again for your offering!