Late Summer at Dripping Springs

IMG_1485 old place and hay c.jpg

Late Summer at Dripping Springs

Late Summer days linger in hazy dreams before the door of Autumn. I find in Dripping Springs an old forgotten rose bush by the white clapboard home, abandoned many, many summers ago.

The rotten bird house still clings to a post at the Pickett cemetery where many children went to dreamin’, laughing and sleepin’ in another place and time.

Wind moves through the dry poke weed, whistling a tune that sounds like flames cracking.

Poke berries, make the prettiest stain…for my aged gingham dress

Deepest magenta, I imagine, will stain my hands

Barn, gone to the trees, sees no one now…not even secret lovers

Hay bales, heavy and sweet smelling, sit fat awaiting the autumn damp and mice.

Summer will leave soon…it will find its way back here again after cold winter moons grow tired.


IMG_1460 Bird House at cemetery c..jpg

IMG_1450 Barn gone to the trees c.jpg

IMG_1482 tommie by the rose bush c..jpg

IMG_1478 Poke Weed c.jpg

IMG_1473 Dark house c.jpg

IMG_1446 tree road c.jpg



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