Sunday, June 21, 2015

Full circle

The hydrangeas in my new yard evoke past summers with my grandmother:
the magnolia tree whose lowest branch was a perfect height to climb;
the gardenias by her brick steps sending up their sweet perfume;
the way the Virginia breeze would lift lace curtains to reveal
the blue hydrangeas slumbering just beyond her rose-striped walls;
those steamy summer nights, their peace disturbed each quarter hour 
by the reassuring toll of my grandfather's wooden clock,
which now hangs here, its aged pendulum stilled.

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