I (always) come up against it...

        this mountain.

In This House

In This House

Winter solace
by the fire,
her hands warmed by it enough-
this life in the Appalachians was a hard one.

They lived here alone, up high.

The river ran by the house
and constant was the flow of it
down through this valley.
In this house, her hands
moved with grace
to crochet the baby
bonnet that matched
her wee pink cheeks
and clothed her naked head.
A single blond curl
over the infant's brow peeked
through the bonnet her mother fashioned in this house.
An apron sat on a peg near the fire
in this house.
In this house, cooking perfumed the timber
and filled the wood with savory spice.
In this house a man and his wife
made a life
carved out of the mountain’s belly.

Years have passed by
one by one
but the chimney
laid stone by stone
still stands, 
a testimony
to the stark beauty
and purpose
of simple mountain living.