Vermont Memories

I once sold books in Vermont, the green hills

as (beautiful) entrancing as a fairy tale.

I would rise at 6:00am, take a cold shower

and be on my way to breakfast

a short drive of twenty minutes

up, over and around the verdant hills.

On the morning I am remembering

and have remembered all my life

I woke to gunsmoke overcast skies

and I thought of the long day ahead

going door-to-door in the in the cold light

and light rain of a dreary day.

Out the door by 6:30

listening to Frankie Goes to Hollywood

and smiling at or perhaps with

On the Way to San Jose

I felt the familiar pop of ears

from this flatlander

as I was called with a wry smile

on more than one occasion

rising through the old man mist

about three quarters up a hill

I emerged into daylight as if on wings

and as far as I could see

were eddies of green tops

like candy drops

sitting on a blanket of white

like candy drops in a box

full of cotton.

And above those green candy top

hills, sitting on their fluffy billow

was nothing but glorious blue sky

and a reigning sun

beaming golden life.

Within minutes

I was heading back down

into the murky soup of shades

but the image, the metaphor

perhaps the lesson

has always remained

although I think I've forgotten

where I left those notes.