Memories Over Yonder Hill

I realize that I have been here before,
even though I have no tangible proof of such a claim.
It is a distant foggy memory that reoccurs every now and then.
It is not a place of beauty that one sees in haughty magazines.
But, it’s a familiar and surprisingly comfortable place.
I wonder if it is my choice to return here again and again.
It’s a daydream of desire I suppose: Call it a yearning or maybe a need.
Would I choose to dream such things if I had been blessed
with a better education or perhaps a more respectable upbringing?
I would have to ponder that thought carefully, because of how it makes me feel.
It appears so true and right, in a homey and realistic sort of way.
If I were a farmer and the land went dry,
would I go to Wall-Street and search out an existence there?
Would I choose to surround myself with so called better things?
Better than worn out dirt and long hours from dawn to dusk?
No, I would return to the land that I know.
I would continue to endeavor, even with my failing efforts
to make my farming right again, doing what I have done before.
You tell me, would we all not be comfortable in a place that we call home?
Even though the farmhouse is in need of great repair?
Would sitting in a penthouse of glass and chrome substantiate
who and what I really am and what I came into life to be?
I think wood floors and handmade quilts, and sips of hot apple cider
while snuggling down by the crackling fireplace will fill my needs.
I will gather eggs instead of shoes
And not watch TV, but spend my nights looking at the stars and moon.
I want a place to display, not trophies that I have won,
but to hang the pictures of those I love today and from days gone by.
These simple things quiet my frantic moods and create a true serenity.
I will choose ball jars over crystal wine glasses;
Firefly lights over city lights;
and being familiar with my neighbors over being familiar with the latest trends.
I wish to know my neighbors kids, and how many grandchildren they now have.
Oh I will return again, I know I will;
if not now, I will get it right the next time.
So wait for me upon the porch and watch for me over yonder hill
for there is where I was laid to rest and from hence I will return again;
to find the home amongst my wishful dreams and in my heart and mind.



About the Poet:
Besides writing, Jacqueline Synclair Chappell enjoys storytelling and inspirational speaking. She draws mostly from her own extraordinary life experiences that have inspired her spiritually uplifting works about living, winning, losing, and going to places far reaching in our mind and soul. She always enjoys sharing her writings with others. More can be read on her Facebook Page.



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Photo by David Mark.