A Visit To My Father's Home

The rose had shed its petals along the walkway leading up to the home
as if welcoming a wedding party
on this early May morning,
but those who once lived here are either dead or scattered.



The lock still opened with the same key.
A familiar turn of the knob as the
door scraped against the threshold
and a creaking floor welcomed my footstep.

This was where I was born,
suffered angst, grew rebellious and
walked out that same front door,
leaving it for granted.

Now all that is left is the structure
with no foundation of family.
As a rose strewn walkway lays wait
with no cause for celebration.

Thoughts of Home

I have started writing again following the publication of my last book 'Twelve Tall Tales'. Being away from writing for me is a difficult separation. There are always thoughts and stories in my mind that need to be told, but sometimes it's difficult finding the time to put them on paper. That has been the case for the past couple of months while getting my last book out in the market. I find the writing of a book is easier sometimes than the marketing. I can't complain. I hope writing will always come easier for me.
I have been away from home now for two weeks enjoying vacation. Still a while yet before I return to my Florida home. I enjoy my time away, but I miss home. As always home is where the heart is, and my heart is in Pensacola.
Here is the place beneath the larger of the twin oaks that I will rest. A favorable spot where I seldom see another soul and the day is mine to bid with. A sanctuary where I can sit and dream or work my hands into the soil until the sun sets and my weary body calls me inside. Beneath the twin oak of my life. My desire and choosing. My home.