Sawdust mountains,
the sound of the mill,
the scent of raw pine
and a whippoorwill.
Sundown in the Ozarks,
shadows dance,
small calves bawl,
ponies prance;
hogs wallow
in mud holes deep;
eggshells crack
at sound of a peep;
the branch meanders,
whispers and sighs;
sweethearts postpone
saying goodbyes
in the Ozark hills
beneath quiet moons
where mamas rock babies
to hillbilly tunes.
Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols
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Freeda Baker Nichols 
That sounds like the Ozarks all right. And I love the word wallow.
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Oh, to see a white piglet wallow in mud! Just to see a little pig would be delightful. Our grandson wanted one, but I couldn’t figure out how he could own one, since his dad would not agree to it. So now in his teen years, I’m sure my grandson looks back on that as “something that might have been!” He has settled for a beautiful, retired Rodeo horse who still has enough get up and go to help my grandson win at Roping. Better than any pig, I bet! 🙂
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Love, Love, Love, Love, Love this! 🙂 Makes me homesick for sure! Different geographical area for me, but lots of the same kinda comfort things to make you feel like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be!
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Thanks. Homesickness is contagious, I guess.
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I could see it…and smell it…
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Thank you, Marilyn.
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I love this, Freeda!
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Thanks. It’s kinda one of my favorites. Plain. I snapped some pictures today of the dogwoods, my favorite spring blooms. Maybe there’s a poem in those somewhere. I’ve been thinking of the spine poems. I had never heard of those.
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I think it is my favorite it has everything.
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