dream of wonderland

Pictures from my neighborhood

A Dream
A few months ago, I tried to describe to my best friend how "home" was starting to feel like a dream.  Like I really didn't have a real house and gardens, or a wonderful river in my back yard.

This is becoming too real, and my old life, nothing but a pretty fantasy.

We both agreed, I needed to come home for a while, soon.  And, I was, it was already planned.

And I wished it could have been more, but I know, for a while at least, it is real.
Home

I miss swings made by grandfathers, hung from trees that have had swings hanging from them for decades.

Town Common Gazebos,  where everyone gathers for the concert of the Town Band.  The Town Band, that just like the Volunteer Fire Department, are our neighbors, (or in my case, my Plumber).

When I can't go, I listen from my backyard.

Forgotten lives

Walking in the woods, the easiest way to find old homesteads, is to look for daylilies in the middle of the woods.  Beebalm and Daylilies.  Find them, and you will probably find an old cellar hole, Well, (with ferns rising about it), and a foundation for a barn. 

Daylilies grow wild, in the sun . . . they tolerate shade, but someone planted them there . . . and then the trees grew up, swallowing all traces of lives once lived there.

I won't be swallowed up,

I will find a way,

to stay in the sun.