I grew up in the neck ah these woods.
Where summer days just laze away
and Fall tastes of baked goods.
Where dirt vanishs into a reddish clay.
I may be more city then country,
but one is hard pressed to forget
the ballet of red and yellow, as the wind bluntly
lies about the coming of winter. Onset
by leaves fluttering down as if rain
swirling into tornado’s upon the ground.
One is hard pressed to find beauty that can compare…even in Main.
Something here pulls one in and you become bound.
‘Round these neck ah the woods
acorns are liable to knock some alarm
into your head, As they descend onto yard goods…
the driving force behind southern charm.
Nature and urban twist into harmony.
As brakes shriek
to avoid the deer family,
that wondered into neighborhood mystique.