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Array
(
[sid] => 72198
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Memories
[time] => 2004-11-18 21:47:21
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Vines spiraled around the porch rails and dew sparkled like diamonds in the morning light. The steps leading to the porch were littered with dead leaves from the branches of the granddaddy oak hanging over the house. The covered porch was free of leaves; the roof was dilapidated, yet it still protected the entrance. Though no one had lived in this house for many years it did not seem lonely. In the quiet of early day the home seemed to be resting, just reflecting on the past. A past when life was new and prospects were good. Now all that remained were memories. There were times of love and laughter when all were safe in the haven of home. The sights, sounds, and smells, made up the memories. A memory to be cherished and brought out when one is lonely, or sad, or happy, and glad. If one sat quietly the sounds of the family that had once lived in the old farmhouse could be imagined. There in the stillness the creak of the old worn rocker. Then the pitter-pat of bare feet and the squeal of laughter as a child chased a ball across the porch floor. Happy voices chattering, and the tinkling of ice in frosty glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade. Echo’s of mother’s footsteps as she hurried inside to her kitchen to prepare the evening meal. Happy laughter as children took turns in the tire swing hanging from the oak in the front yard. Whispers from the young couple as they softly swayed in the porch swing, then the screen door screeching open causing them to jump apart. The daddy whistled for the children to come in to supper. The tumble and tussle as the brood raced to the porch. The reverberations of clop clopping shoes hurrying up the stairs while their eager noses sniffed the air in anticipation of the delicious supper. Mother’s call of, “wash your hands and faces”, followed by several, “yes mama’s”. Then the scrape of chairs being pulled out from the table and scooted back in as the family sat down to supper. The jingle of silverware as it rolled from its snug bed inside folded napkins. At that moment stillness; then they all bowed their heads in prayer. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 167 [topic] => 14 [informant] => lovewithoutend [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DreamsandWishes )
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