Thursday, October 31, 2013

Twenty Seven Miles Away

               
   ... twenty seven miles away

                                        ... snow is falling on the picnic table where we made love fifteen years ago
       
                  ... pumped cold sweet water from a well

 
                                                           ... distance / time / a river ... untraversable
    



8 comments:

  1. Distance and time, two thoughts tied together by memories.

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  2. Elroy sent me here and she is right - your work is amazing.

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    Replies
    1. I'm so glad you came by. I'm very grateful for her recommendation and thank you for your comment!

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  3. Nice image, the photo AND the mental picture. An experience like that is not soon forgotten. Thankfully. Great memories like that need to be
    replayed in the mind from time to time. It is good for the mind, the body, and the soul. Cool, sweet water pumped from a well is a great experience by it self. Preceded by a physical "workout" would tend to make the water taste even better.

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    Replies
    1. The memory remains bittersweet. Nothing like cold water from a well, especially in this setting ... :) Thank you, sweet friend.

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    2. Guess I should have analyzed this a little closer. My mind wandered as I read "lovemaking on a picnic table." Guys are wired a little
      different, for better or worse. Your seductive prose and poems always gets my full attention.
      I love well water. One of my childhood friends lived on a farm. When we would get thirsty we would flip on the well pump and in about a minute we would get the coldest, best-tasting water that I have ever had. Drank out of a couple of old tin cups hanging on a rusty nails that was pounded into a wooden fence post.

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    3. Minds do have a tendency to wander ... :) I love your additional comments. I have my own well water now, but not drawn directly from a pump as we did in this setting and also as a child on our small farm. You are so right ... the best water ever came from that childhood well. One of my earliest poems/posts on this blog is about that well. I love your description of the tin cups and rusty nails and wooden fence posts ... a poem in the making ... :) Feel free to write it and I'll post it ... :)

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