Home Turf

by Rebecca Weber

The memories grow thick here,
a lush tangle of brown grass and green
under the old apple tree
where I used to soar on the swing.
Now I return rarely, briefly,
to sit in the swing
and remember.

Roots weave endurance beneath the surface,
of this ancient soil
so that still after years of drought and neglect,
new shoots spring out of dormancy.
Grass ripples under lofty trees
where I played “Go to Rome”
with my new set of friends.
They are old friends now,
and I return only rarely, briefly.
I sit on the porch with one of them
and remember.

The grass may be greener on the other side.
But rarely, briefly, I must return
to this side of the fence,
lie face down in the verdant past
and weave it into today,
to smell the richness of earth,
sharp green of grass, to say
I remember.
I remember.
I remember this.

Rebecca Weber lives with her husband Tim in their house with big windows, and she is passionate about celebrating the goodness of God and His beauty in everyday things through writing, relationships, and hospitality.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy