Dawning Creations

Crisp and frosty earth
crackles underfoot
Air pockets give way
under left and right foot

A forlorn wishing well
surrounded by thriving trees

green and dressed to the nines in vines
winding into our perspective

leading us to our well

He’s welcoming
with his cracked boards
and mossy stones

He somehow feels like home

His rusty metal gears boldly
boast about the weight they held
during his fonder years.

He’s happy still,
smiling while squirrels pile
chunks of half eaten pinecones
and rest their furry bodies
before scurrying off, again.
Admitting all guests, he’s humble

He’s home to us today

He shows his age with no regard

He doesn’t masquerade
for queens or kings,
won’t bother to bow.

He’s a creation of honor,
born of love and memories
between pure hearts.

I could feel their beating,
leaning against the frosty stones.
Heat emanated from the belly
of Mr. Well,
the place piled to midline
with snapped boards and fallen leaves.

The heat caressed
my wind chapped cheeks.
The heartbeat rhythm slowed
my panicked heart

I could feel
breathe, again

He was home that day