Deep in the woods
down a narrow path
she waits for me..
(Her door is always open..)
even in daylight
shadows fall
on her wooden floors
seeming to dance....
a faint smell
of honeysuckle
and wild rose
enter through windows
on a gentle breeze.
she knows me well.
I visit her often.
I drink cold water
from her spring
in grandmas tea cups...
i light candles
and burn wood
in her fireplace...
As poems flow
from her old walls
like conversation..
one must listen close
to hear
memories dancing...
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