“Through the Mist” by Gordon Miller

I think of long ago yesterdays

With tears of joy

And sometimes

Sadness

Thoughts that bring back

The dreams and hopes

That fade and darken

Through the hourglass of time

With weary failing eyes

Dim pictures appear

White clouds drifting

Like castles in the sky

Long lines of trees

Like sentinels

Beside the winding roads

Wooden sidewalks and

Whirlwinds zigzagging

Racing down the dusty sandy streets

A shaggy horse trudging by

Pulling a wagon with high wheels

The driver standing

Holding the reins

The lonesome wail of the whistle blowing

As the white smoke billows high

From the stack of the steam engine

People sitting in the dining car

Eating Winnipeg goldeye

On china plates with sterling silver cutlery

A wave from the porter standing in the door of

The sleeping car as the train speeds by

Clicking of pool balls in the early evening

Men standing in front of the store

Talking laughing swearing

Happy to be home from the

Lumber camps and mines

For a short time

A fishing pole fashioned from a willow branch and a

Thick green line,

Hanging over the pier under the railroad bridge

While the older boys dove from the top

Into the raging white and foamy water

Sitting in school

On a warm spring afternoon

The fragrance of wildflowers

Through the open windows

Watching the slow moving clock

Daydreaming of things to come

In a far away world

 Learning from books

Playing Cowboy and Indians among the trees

The daredevil pilots flying overhead

Looping stalling and steep dives

 In the azure blue sky

Church service on Sunday evening

Singing hymns with the haunting chords

From the foot pumped organ

Passing the graveyard

In the evening

Where crosses mark the places

Children are buried

Heading into the forest with slingshots

Hunting for partridge and rabbits

Cold winter mornings

Heavy frost on the windows

In a drafty old house

Eating porridge

Walking to school through the heavy snow

Skating on the pond

Warning up around the bonfire

Smoking cattails

Until the heavy snow covers the ice

Tobogganing down the hills

Through snow laden trees

This time has passed

And we move along

Faded memories

From another time

So bittersweet

They make me laugh and cry

Gordon Miller is a visual artist and writer, living in Oakville. He is taking creative writing courses in Brian’s classes for the past two years, and enjoying every minute of them. He is almost finished a mystery novel and is hoping to publish a book
of short stories. His poem, ‘Through the Mist’ is the first place winner – adult category, in The James McIntyre poetry contest. Visit Gord at www.gordonmillerart.com

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