So far, far away from the bright city lights
down a dusty and old gravel road -
was a quaint little cabin built of full logs.
where nary a rafter was bowed.
So sturdy and stately it stood among trees.
It's woodwork was sawn and rough-cut.
The spring on the screen door resisted my pull.
I stepped in and door had slammed shut.
It seemed to be saying, "I don't want you here"
protesting that I had stepped in.
But I hadn't listened to what it had said,
consumed by the cabin within.
Such workmanship done by archaic tools
was special and second to none.
Amazed, I imagined a pile of logs,
then stacking them all one by one.
Outside I heard chirping from one nearby marsh.
The palms seemed to tower too high.
The trails went on for mile after mile
while groups of great egret walked by.
From grasses quite tall to warm river banks,
on white sands or next to a tree,
the gators would thankfully come and then go
and have little int'rest in me.
As days would wind down the chill would set in.
I'd gather up good burning wood.
So many old thoughts would go through my head
that only my God understood.
A couple of hours before the sunrise,
made time for a long morning prayer.
The flames from the brick and stone fireplace
had warmed up the crisp, wintry air.
The orange dancing flames were having such fun
and seemed to not tire at all.
As radiant heat would rise from the hearth,
dark shadows would dance on the wall.
I stared out the panes of the old window glass.
The view was a sight to behold.
I treasure the pictures I burned in my mind
in thoughts much too hard to be told.
The days were so peaceful. The nights black as coal.
Enjoyed I, each moment I had.
But then the day came when I had to leave
and yes, it had made my heart sad.
I packed up my clothes and I swept out the place.
My stomach was knotted somewhat.
The spring on the screen door resisted my push.
I stepped out and door had slammed shut.
It seemed to be saying that it changed its mind
and thought it quite rude that I leave.
But it didn't know that I'd rather stay there
and it'd never know that I grieve.
I drove that dusty and old gravel road
straight-way to the city of lights.
But heart was not with me. I left it back there -
with the cabin of logs and the sights.
This poem was a finalist in the December 2016 poetry contest