Sunset of Her Memories

—–SUNSET OF HER MEMORIES
Written for my mother VONCILLE HUGHES NAYLOR from the format of a short story she wrote for publication when I was a little boy about how she felt when she was a girl of 18…now 74 years ago!

Sometimes on those rare occasions
When I am alone at that sad,
Yet contented time of day when
The world grows tired and weary,

And the sun has slipped quietly
In its hiding place, I sit and wait
For my family to come home. Unsolicited
Taunts of sweet smelling rolls

Rising in a pan, send my mind
Racing down the backward path
A slumbering yesteryear to awaken.
Little by little, I grasp hold of fluttering

Memories riding in like tidal waves,
Inundating me and splashing around in
My mind, only to slip away, and back
Out into the vast sea of time.

It happens every spring at least once,
That to the past my yearning heart returns
A little while, just a while, as memory
Walks a tree-shaded lane. Lazy steps

Kick up the dust, and I bid farewell
With soulful relish to gentle rays of the
Warming sun. Idle time on a narrow road,
Richly spent. I stand now, as then among

The Catalpa trees, drinking in the sweetness
Seeping from fragrant white blossoms. The
Burdened look of heavy laden-boughs turn
My thoughts to summer, when innocence’s invite

Is to lie securely beneath its leafy ovate fans.
Standing tall and reverent, clusters of tiny white
Bells dangle from their branches. A mile’s span,
And far beyond, march the imperial Catalpas.

Their rank is broken only once, by the rustic
Gap of nature’s intrusive irregularity, flanking
The arched columns with wild briar, warped, tangled
And leaning in space. The radiant love vine

Winds its golden thread-like taffy around the
Jumbled door, which leads to a shallow channel,
Shaped like a shovel, and surrounded by prehistoric
Green moss and royal saplings yearning to grow.

To this place upon the seductive grass I go,
To dream and lie breathless. Closing my eyes,
Pulsating flames enrapture my heart, capturing
The music of eternity, as it floats upon the wings of nature.

Their fading tones hang long in the distance and
The air is heavy with notes soft and sweet. The
Swelling vibrations to which my begging soul does
Stir, plead mellow for me to wait, and quietly

Linger there. Whispering echoes caress and stroke
My dreams, painting a sunset of purest hope and serenity.
The sunsets of all my yesteryears melt liquid into the sunset
Of today and becomes a covetous refuge of treasured solitude.

Delicate memories forever cling to that place now long
Gone, but never far from here. Today’s sunset turns the
Pages of my mind to the sunsets of yesteryear and give
Repose with the thought, that the past is never lost.