Down the dusty road I drive – in the comfort of

My sleek saloon.

Memories come flooding back of places that I’ve been

That path I walked – every day to fetch the firewood

Winding through the brush just as it was back then…

A different path still narrow but beaten down to a small gulley

That leads to the water well.

And this dusty road—- just as it was then

With grass-less banks worn bare by the pitter patter

 of Children’s naked feet as they run to school and back home again.

I drive off the red dusty road and pull into the driveway

Of the place where I once spent countless hours

Running and playing and chasing goats and sheep.

My sandled feet

Touch the ground of the place that I called home.

The place that bore and nourished me

—where I learned how to be.

I look around – my eyes embrace the vision-

A portrait of birth and life and growing up

The patch of yellow bamboo is gone…but

The ageless bougainvillea bush still stands

Bright red flowers cover its branches and carpet the earth beneath it

The mango trees still hold their ground and their fruit is plenty –even now!

The mud-walled grass thatched hut has been replaced

And in its place stands a red brick structure

With a shiny corrugated iron roof.

I look at this and sadness comes over me

I remember the coolness of the earthen structure

…grandmothers hut…

Where we cooked and shared food and laughter.

I remember nights around the blazing fire – listening to stories

Of the glorious amazing past.

-Stories of bravery and life as it was then…

I envision the kid goats and little lambs

Which found their comfort in the warmth of the hut-

Tethered close to their mothers to keep them out of mischief;

Even with the restraint- they still skipped and jumped around.

The memories come flooding back and I smile

Beautiful thoughts of life as it was bring laughter to my mouth

There’s a wall I always used to climb until I fell and broke a leg

It still stands firm and I…

I have my scar

I stand here for a moment – I can reach up and touch the top

Back then – it was as high as a mountain

Now – it’s just a wall.

I see the flat stone – a tribute from the river…

It took a wooden cart drawn by two strong bulls to carry it

I stand on the river stone.

This is where I bathed

It’s where my clothes were cleaned

I reach down and touch the smooth surface of the stone

Colors of the brightly printed clothes flash across my memory

So real – I reach out to touch them

But they are just a vapor that passes through my fingers.

As I stand watching…the fresh bright red flowers of the old bougainvillea bush

Blow past me

The wind gives them a puff and blows them down the dusty road.

As they move down the road the bright red color fades quickly.

Before my eyes the flowers loose all color – dry up

and become a part of the dust blowing down the red dirt road.

-a vision of life-

Of the moments and instances that are

Of the beauty that is but for while

And then – ceases to be!

Momentarily I close my eyes

And I embrace the vision of the place where

I was born

Years have come and gone

But the colors of my past are a painted in my mind

I can remember what was

I can recall the days that are gone

In my mind the vibrant colors of my past

-Are imprinted for life.

My hands cannot touch what was

It’s now a vapor blowing in the wind

My eyes cannot see what used to be

And all the colors of my past…are but a memory -

-a vision of times gone by-

An illusion of things that were!

Everything has changed…all but the dusty road.