At nine, I stepped out my back door for an evening walk the house stuffy like a padded room a block from the house Johnson street for the Johnson plastics factory a placard hung on a chain reading no motorized vehicles the gate to an Amish buggy path I turned my toes into the path picking up my pace the lights of Middlefield town faded out of sight the way wended the borders of thick forest and fields the moon shone like a black light making trees and rocks glow with their auras the Big Dipper poured fairy dust on my head primeval trees looked like the walls of castles I can hear my feet padding down the buggy-wheel crisscrossed mud path the voices in my head went silent if I screamed at the top of my lungs town ears wouldn't hear me just crickets, frogs, rabbits, elves, and fairy this siesta from the cities and towns is like a drug I remembered my ragamuffin, and cried, not from sorrow but for joy 3.0 10/10 © Brian Peter Hodgkinson
Remembering Peter
05
May
thebirdsiheard
May 5, 2022 at 5:38 pm
I love your word choice. Very class 😸 👏👏👏
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Brian Peter Hodgkinson
May 5, 2022 at 7:44 pm
thank you so much
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