In the wilds with my Grandpa.

-



Gramps left the town

The folks of years

The job

The routine.

Made himself the Cabin.

After tenting for

Two spring months.


Befriended the seasons’ rush

The morning sounds 

The little projects.

His son, my Papa

Assured me, little Francine

Two wonderful weeks

Out there.

Best part of all year.


And Arrow, his peregrine

Made for rich fun

In the hunt

And tasty rabbit stew.

Twice as delicious

With my Gramps.

Highland winds whining.

Cook fire snapping.

And some old Scots tune.




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hearing some thunder.

-
Image
  Seem to be fewer heavy rain days. most people just see inconvenience and dicy traffic. kids getting soaked to and fro school hectic shopping cart rushes for groceries and zero rules obeyed in any parking lot. garbage collection job now one of the worst. but farmers see a day of novel inside chores Tractor tune-up. the dog goes off from squirrel-chase duty cattle in a field will cool and re-hydrate bunched shoulder to shoulder the soils drink in Life, and greedily. the wife’s veggy garden does a dance tomatoes smiling. And perhaps she has A much needed phone Call to her sister Four months into her cancer scare.
Read more