“There was a time when things were different.”
Many things were different,
Everything was different.
Was it a dream or was it
The weathered, well-pruned arborvitae lay prone
‘neath the blizzardly burden of winter’s shawl,
Only (soon) to spring forth yellow shoots.
Today, the shrubs grow wild.
Robby climbed high into the flowering plum’s
accessible limbs; tenderfoot-holds
for young-uns’ adventures.
Today, the tree is gone.
Aunt Jane returned from tropic isles,
Carry-ons stuffed with trinkets,
Carvings, purple-red parrot-pair.
Today, they perch ‘mid attic dust.
He learned to whittle carvings from Dad,
A rustic red-pine rocker for Mom,
Splines stained, and sanded smooth.
Today, remembering, he rocks.
Everything was different,
Life’s winding paths unfolded,
But we lived too near the forest.
Today, with hindsight’s clarity, we see.
This was written for Speakeasy #147, using the given first line (in bold), and making reference to the prompt photo below: