THERE STOOD A COTTAGE by Deitz Kracker
Its pathway strewn with pine and
Lined by bushes filled with berries.
Moss covered steps of rotten logs
Lay past poison ivy,
Cobwebs.
Across the paint chipped, wooden walkway,
It rests in quiet.
Unimposing, as
A peaceful part of the woods.
Sundried, yet dry and cool.
Its serenity, so simple.
A fortress from the beach below,
It stands sentry on the hill.
Stately as a castle,
Catching wind just as the treetops,
With solid roots of concrete
Buried deep within the sand.
Its lofty place provides
A perch for people.
City people,
Here to feel the freedom of the shore.
Waves, as regular as heartbeat
Keep time with their own.
The dew of morning brings
Shafts of sun between the trees.
Birds make themselves at home
With no regard for humans.
Long, empty days have claimed it
More for nature than those visiting.
The porch door creaks,
From years of opening and closing.
As the sun begins to lower,
The hum of conversation quiets.
Those present make retreat
To rocking chairs or porch swing.
The calm of evening settles
Its cool veil upon the grounds.
Sunset, making clouds of pink,
Preludes the darkness.
Until the light from yellow windows,
Becomes a beacon in the night.
Here once, a cottage stood.
Gone now, fallen as its founders.
Replaced in grander style
With thick walls
That shut out sounds,
And share no temperatures.
As imposing as a stranger
With smells of paint and stain.
Birds, wary of its newness,
Circle,
In search of
Something more familiar.
For somewhere, in a
Space now emptied,
There stood a cottage.
The image of its place in time
Can now only be remembered
By those who touched and felt it.
