Down the Old Dirt Road

Down the old dirt road lies
Grandma's house,
'mid fields of wheat and
tinkling cow-bells.
We'd walk to Grandma's house,
three miles across the woods,
down the old dirt road,
talking of the things
that matter to kids.

There's nothing like the
scent of rain on a dirt road.
Settled dust seeping
in rivulets off the leaves.
The storm departs with
distant grumbling, and
our bare feet tell
tales of our passage.

Imprinted in the caked earth
are footprints of
many generations, recorded
in moist earth and with
laughter still on the breeze.
Trees remember these things.
So do we, when we see
the old dirt road, yet today.

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 08