Wednesday, August 26, 2015
sweet September memories.
Looping across Cherohala skyway
in Daddy's old black Ford.
A magical time,
my parents and I
taking a joy ride
on Sunday afternoon.
Work can wait
on the farm,
time with family
can not wait.
I look down
on the rideline
burning like hickory
sticks in the fireplace.
We stop at the overpass,
eat a moonpie and RC Cola,
a whippoorwill whistles
and the cool breeze
brushes my face.
Daddy and Mama smile,
I feel their unconditional love:
work can wait!
--Brenda Kay Ledford
front row: little Brenda and brother, Harold.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Something clicked in my kitchen. It wasn't the clock on my stove. "Oh, no! Something's torn up again," I moaned.
I noticed the little solar-powered flowers on the windowsill waving their hands. Click. Click. Click. The daisies were dancing a jig in the sunshine.
I smiled and thought it would be a good day. I heard a mower humming. I glanced out the window and our neighbor pulled into the drive.
Mr. Wimpey asked if we needed any fresh vegetables:
Tomatoes red as rubies,
the aroma of hot peppers,
visions of fried okra!
"Oh, yes! We would love some vegetables," I said. I was grateful that our neighbors had thought of us and had graciously shared their garden produce with us.
Until recently, Mama raised a garden every year. She enjoyed sharing her vegetables with family and friends.
As she said, "There's nothing like stepping out your back door and picking fresh vegetables from the garden.
Thanks to our good neighbors, we can still savor fresh, mountain-grown vegetables straight from the garden.
I had a feeling it would be a good day, and it was a great day!
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