The Spring brings the dream, my Virginia dream, my dream
of the Shenandoah Valley, with its rolling green fields and
brooks that babble with whispers, inviting toes to be tickled
in their soft running free waters. In the air are traces of sweet
things; honeysuckle and apple blossoms, bluegrass and jasmine
mixing together in that southern way that delights the senses
unlike any other pleasantry found on Earth.
I dream of leisurely sitting on a front porch swing sipping an
early morning mug of coffee and watching the mist rise
from a pond just a five minute stroll away. A weeping willow is
dancing its fingers on the pond as a swan and her young
lazily swim by. A dragon fly skims the surface to gather a bit
of moister as fish watch eagerly in hopes for a lingering
hesitation. The coffee is good this morning mixed with honey.
I dream of a cabin built sturdily of logs, plenty big for two and
surrounded by oaks showing off their new green little ones while
enjoying Springs breath that gently blows, leaving to hear a swoosh.
The Winter’s warmth has cooled and left to wither away in the large
stone fireplace. Photographs of love and memories mingle with
house plants filling each room with family and life. I smile when I
hear the piano being played. So sweetly she uses her gift.
I dream of her. She is the air that I breathe, the keeper of my
heart, my comfort, my desire and my passion. She brings to me
joys more than there are stars in the sky or sands on the shore.
She is whom I love. As I marvel at scenes before me, she comes to
say, breakfast is ready. I reach for her hand and draw her to me. She
sits in my lap and we kiss, counting each one aloud as our eyes smile.
She giggles and says the biscuits are getting cold. We kiss again.
I dream of working the garden where there will be sweet corn,
tomatoes and melons, all tenderly cared for so as to enjoy its fruit
at supper’s table. The afternoon brings us walking hand in hand,
she and I, as the wooded beauty inspire our writings and our
camera’s eye. Robins serenade us with their harmony as a cricket
or two add their percussion to complete the song. We both stop and
pray thanking God for this valley’s peace we are so blessed with.
Yes, the Spring brings the dream, my Shenandoah Valley dream.
With eyes closed and heart listening I hear so clearly the Blue Ridge
Mountains, the pastures green, the acoustic chords of Virginia calling
me home. Strawberries and shortcake, freshly pressed apple cider
and so much more awaits me there. I will be on a path crossing a
creek and stop on a footbridge to look into my lover’s eyes, a distant
church bell will toll and I will know that my dream has come true.
My one true dream,
my hope and desire.
I’m dedicated to
its reality. The deram
is my joy.