New Mexico, 20/20

I miss the mist in the grapevines, the sunrise behind mountain skyline.
I miss the mess of crushed grapes and the sweet snacks I’d imbibe.
I miss the cool breeze through the house, the haunting nights, snakes and mice
the rattles in the backyard, wine washed evenings alone.
I miss the stars and Milky Way cloud across the sky, the fog where rabbits hide,
The nights when coyotes cried as dusk spread the blanket of night and all I could do was sigh

Cigarettes fogged the house and wine blurred nights spent alone with my guitar and NPR and records.

I miss the fresh air, the valley below, the hawks that would glide, the distant snow.
I miss the lazy days, the grasshoppers dancing on the blades of grass that grew from the orange coarse desert dirt.
I miss the silent nights when I couldn’t hear anything at all, but the sounds of the critters scurryin between my walls.

The deck door slammed with the wind, the porch light turned on for no reason, and I never knew just who could see me.

I miss Roger’s slow draw his long goodbyes his little white lies.
I miss the plant I tried to grow, the bug covered window and prospects of ghosts
I miss the spiders who would greet me when I was ready for bed
Thank you to them for not dropping onto my head.

There ain’t no place like Grandma’s house on the side of a mountain with nothing around. I hope it never falls. Grama I’m comin home just as soon as I’m done here.