Your Eyes Said Appalachia
Missed Connections in Madison
Your eyes said Appalachia. Mountains and clear streams. Sassafras. The smoky taste of oak-aged bourbon long rested in a cellar. Rounded mountains stretching towards horizon in ever-bluer hues, capped here and there in wispy clouds. Seeing you I envision picnics by wild rivers, summer’s last wildflowers in fading bloom and birds flying south. Gentle but insistent wind from the north. Us curling together after the sandwiches are eaten, the radiant warmth of two bourbons, your softness and my leathery hands.
Cottonwood leaves are yellowing along the shores of lakes you love. Walk with me there under dark clouds while wind-waves harass the rocks. Any day I’d walk with you along our river, be it channeled as it may.
Winters here are legend, but ancient Polish ancestors pass down warmth for you to carry: be warm with liquor, food and love. Two heart-breakers fit well together. You like to analyze, but sometimes things are simple. Let’s lie under blankets curled together and read good poems all winter.
Her Two Cents
This video of the Appalachian Waltz, featuring the beauty of autumn foliage, couldn’t be a better backdrop for this romantic love poem from Madison. It’s enough to make me feel the crisp air and warm sunshine and image the quiet sounds of a evening reading by the fire.
