Photo: The remains of the old Pergandes farmhouse circa 1913, Shire of Bencubbin, Western Australia.
“Instead of “Let it go,” we should probably say “Let it be.” John Kabat-Zinn
Even The Sky
I return,
but nothing is
as I imperfectly remember it,
the places I used to frequent
aren’t the same sepia tint,
even the sky refuses to be a memory,
the flowers no longer speak
as they once did,
my mood is on the loose
looking for a feeling,
at once muted, at once excited,
trying not to locate a grief
as I attempt, just for a moment,
to rekindle yesterday.
Copyright 2023 ©️Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️
parallax 
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Thank you 🙂
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I’m reminded by this photo of how every region had to use its main source of building supplies available
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Yes, in this case they scavenged the nearby granite outcrops and they also heated the granite to make it possible to sheer off large thin slices for building.
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Your poem speaks directly to me. I’ve had this experience so many times,
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I find it discombobulating.
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That’s a good word for it, yes.
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Beautiful words – I relate
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Yes, all that history eh?
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