Up the deep, sloping driveway

To the quiet green cottage on the hill

The chopped firewood in the garage

Where the jack rabbit hides

Calls to my memory

The hands that stacked it there

Years before

The wood shop still covered

In sawdust and shavings

I can feel him here with me

Papa

This house he built

Modest and rustic – is the place of my dreams

The rain barrel leans in earnest

Looking skyward – ever hopeful

As I will when my time is over

I will gaze skyward and be transported

To this place in time

Where the gentle hands and familiar faces

Of my youth

Will greet me

And welcome me back