Those old covered bridges abiding in small towns

still softly echo with yesterday’s sounds.

They cause a gentle rush of memories.

Ones that we share, you and me.

I recall leaping from blackberry bushes to muscadine vines,

and children’s fingers stained from hours of sunshine.

I remember Sunday suppers on a hot summer’s eve,

and hours spent playing in the land of make-believe.

I recollect bare toes dipping into a cool creek,

and jubilant squeals during a game of hide-and-seek.

I return to thoughts of battered shoes terrorizing train tracks,

and climbing sweet fruit trees just to relax.

I fall into retrospect of a dirt road leading to an old muddy river,

and small warm bodies cuddled close to break a cold shiver.

I reminisce unforgiving soil on the knees of our britches,

and how holidays found us counting our riches.

Yes, those old covered bridges sure bring some memories to mind,

but some things never do change, even with the passage of time.

Somehow, I can still hear the echo of our childhood heritages,

every time I cross over one of those old covered bridges.

~ Tammy Leigh Maxey

From the Portraits of the Heart collection
Copyright 2004
www.windowsofgraceonline.com

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