I remember our home on the mountain.
Memory paints a picture clear as day
of a glassed-in porch room with seventy-two windows,
of the barn nestled in close, in case of snow,
of my maple tree hanging over the lake
and of the pond where I'd catch frogs.
I remember climbing our two-and-a-half-mile-long driveway
up to the bus stop in the mornings,
and the two-and-a-half-mile-long slog up
from mountain-bottom every night.
Especially when it had snowed all day.
Yes, I actually did that!
I remember walking to the spring for water,
sleeping in my 'bed with a roof.'
I remember my Dad raking immense piles of leaves
every fall and how he'd bury me in them.
I remember Mom giving me teaparty birthdays
with pink bread and raspberry scones.
So much I remember in my mind's eye.
It is there engraved in my mind. But,
the house burned down years ago
and where I lived is now a state park.
I haven't been back there--
I'll keep my memories intact!
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