home

The thought of riding my bicycle up and down Indiana State Road 55 and even getting as far as DeMotte, exhausted and proud because we also got back, makes me realize today how big I felt our world was back then no matter how small it actually was by other measurements. Like burrowing rodents on a communal challenge, we knew that trip my brother and I took to DeMotte broke important, new ground.

There was a hill half a mile from the prairie farm we had to climb to reach our destination. We were told to be careful because cars could not see us. We were careful, at least on our bikes, or lucky that few cars usually drive that rural road. I wondered why that hill was there at all considering how flat everywhere else was. At the time I reasoned that even the slightest elevation, say a foot, must be caused by a dinosaur’s body lying somewhere below. I wanted to dig them up and then keep going to China.

I can still see that hill, but I can’t find it for sure on Google Maps. The information online does put in perspective most of the places I heard and imagined as a child. “So that’s where they are!” I tell myself. However, I don’t need an online map for that hill. Even in my memory it remains difficult to bike up, but fun to ride down.

QUIET CORN AND BEANS
GROWING ON DEEP PRAIRIE SOIL
CHILDREN RUSHING BY

Text: Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday. Mish is hosting with the theme “hometown”.

Photo: “Trees in Winter”

Bleak — #writephoto

The weather is too cold, too hot, too wet, too dry but something, since there’s room, if only rock, may call it home and welcome passing waves of water, air and other life although what comes may soon move on. Its welcome doesn’t mind the moving on. It’s glad to serve as ground.

We build out there where weather’s hot or cold or wet or dry like plants that cuddle sheltered by the cracks from waves of water, air and other life. It’s bleak but something calls this pure space home and some proclaim this home a sacred place.

Text: Linked to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt and as a prose poem to dVerse Meeting the Bar where Amaya Engleking hosts with the prompt “jazz poetry”.

Photo: Sue Vincent provided the photo for the prompt.

Home

Perspectives are of details
That limit what we see
So what we see will benefit
Our subjectivity.

If I were walking from here
Upon adventures tossed
I’d mark this “home”,
Then go and roam
And try not to get lost.

Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Mish from mishunderstood.wordpress.com with the prompt being to choose a sign and write about that as a prompt. I selected a set of familiar street corner signs near where I live that included a walking guy caution sign.
Photo: “Home” by the author.

The Seed Who Dreamed of Travel

One day I hope to travel
But I will go nowhere.
I’m like a seed who sprouts and tries
To grow then shaded wilts and dies.
I’m rooted here not there.

If life’s a destination,
Then mine ends where I start.
And if I traveled from my home
And drifted somewhere all alone.
That, too, would break my heart.

Linked with dVerse OpenLinkNight #189 hosted by Grace.
Photo: “Seeds” by the author.