He sat on the porch, a tired straw hat

Firmly lodged on grey locks, favourite pipe

Nestled between parched lips, watching

The sun go down behind the trees



Ah those trees, a familiar flash flood
Burst it’s banks, his mind awash
With a cascade of memories,
Fond recollections of earlier times

Instinctively, he gripped his aged back,
Rubbing soothingly whilst images of
Furrowed fields with freshly planted
Seedlings drifted lazily through his thoughts

How quickly they grew tall and strong,
Soon sprouting shoots of their own,
Nurturing them to grow and bear fruit
That filled the air with sweet aromas

The visions twisted as the seasons
Ebbed and flowed, and he caught
Glimpses of things long forgotten,
And something stirred within him

How had he forgotten about them?
Distant images of them beneath the trees
Appeared and vanished like lightning,
An agonizing slow moving picture show

He remembered feeling something
Akin to pride, and yet something else
Lurked in the darkness, some sadness
That refused to reveal itself

As the last light of the sun faded
Behind the trees, he stood up and
Muttered “There’s a storm moving in”,
And walking inside, he closed the door.