Dusty Memories

Memories float like whispers,
tattered dreams of distant times.
An echo of childish laughter
trips down towards the creek.

The thump of the pump in the old tin shed
laid to rest in a rusty bed.
The gurgle of the creek calls me on,
tempting me,
the forgotten allure of Marmite and watercress sandwiches.

The hay barn where dust motes
danced in shafts of light
and the old abandoned cowshed –
gone.
Destroyed on a path to progress.

But in my dreams, a little girl
who looks a lot like me
still searches for goose eggs to take home for Mother
and sits in the feijoa tree
and dares the world to steal her dreams.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s