Where corn grows ready waiting the harvest
and granaries are tall white towers
stretching upwards into bright skies.
Where trees, large and twisted
their bark like wrinkles baked in the sun,
with heavy foliage on hanging branches
bow low to the ground now covered in leaves,
and busy little squirrels scurrying around.
The sound of trains rumbling down the tracks,
the blast of a noon day whistle heard,
with the semis and tractors sharing the road
between quaint shops that line the street;
a bank, a post office, grocery and gas pump.
Are all beginning to feel more like home.
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Joyce E. Mannhalter © Oct. 2018
Reflections 