L'aura del Campo

Time to move on [176.19]

Time to move on

And this
is where you were born,
a place of deep snows
and deeper secrets,
a cocoon
that guarded your trust
until squeezed out
leaving only a husk.

And this
is the place you fled to
wide open grasslands
and welcoming arms
where sunshine cleansed
dark corners of webs,
those places you tried
to keep to yourself.

And then you left...
returned to the confines
of childhood closets,
stuck in an attic
of old memories
and ghosts
the past a trap
at every footfall
a place where traumas
never gave up

Once more you fled
to a place of odd melodies,
old hills that sang
with a twang
and the soft mutter
of crayfish,
the flutter
of scissor tailed flycatchers
catching your eye

And now
you live in a place
where grizzlies
yodel between mountains
and snow melts
to impregnate a river
each spring
where winter's but a ghastly pall
where after the scorch of summer
smoke chokes lungs
come fall.

And you dream
of a place
with open prairie
and open hearts
where green hurts the eyes
where blackbirds squawk
and elderberries ripen in ditches,
where bells ring out
and choirs sing
in four part harmony
beckoning you home.

Know
that you know
what place you need to be.
Know
that here
isn't that place.
It's time to move on.

© Kåre Enga [176.19] (3.avril.2019)

For the Dew Drop Inn prompt: place.

100.795