I’m no poet, but for what its worth, this came to me last night. Hope you like it.
Partridgeberry jam by the spoonful from the jam dish: You can taste it.
Wood smoke drifts from chimneys in the frosty morn : you can smell it.
Dew kissed fence palings on your path : you can feel it.
Vapor rising from the glass like sound : you can see it.
An echoing put put from down the arm : you can hear it
Home, it fills up your senses, never to be forgotten.
… Me …
Raised in outport Newfoundland in a town of 65 people, I pursued a post secondary diploma in Information Technology right out of High School.
I’ve always been a geek at heart, but yet I love the rural life I grew up with. Fishing, hunting, camping and the great outdoors are still loves of mine, even if I don’t pursue them as often as I once did. Sports were always a big part of our lives, and I played many (badly) and loved them all.00
- Bare MountainAs you come down over the hill along by the cemetery in Apsey Brook, looking straight ahead and way way down, you’ll see a bare rock face off in the distance. I’m not sure if this has a real name, but I always called it Bare Mountain, and as a …
- The CremationBack in the early 90’s I think it was, one of our regular clan, and one of the hosts of our semi-regular poker games, Ivan Patey, went away to the mainland for work. He’d been gone a while, and none of us (the gang of people, I can’t speak for …
- Sweet Leaves, Frankum, and Spruce BudsThe other night I had a memory of being on the grass on Celie Burt’s garden in Elliott’s Cove, with Tony Burt I believe, but that part of the memory is foggy. Its my most vivid memory of eating something we all ate as kids I’m sure; sweet leaves. Eric …
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