(Somerset was my Uncle’s horse ranch
where I spent many a delightful summer
during my youth. Upon his death the
property was turned in condominiums.)

I recall and often with longing the days at Somerset
long summer afternoons whiled away
spent in the swing by the gazebo under the old oak tree
the century-old branches providing shade
someone in the garden whistling a happy tune
horses shining and nibbling green grasses
the contented buzz of the bees, the tang of lemonade
the cats purring away the afternoon
the dogs dozing contentedly knowing all was well
from the kitchen sounds of dinnertime preparations
the smell of homebaked bread and clothes fragrant with sun
bouquets of sweet peas and snapdragons adorning rooms
a book on my lap inspiring me even then
with hopes of someday being able to tell
of how those days imprinted themselves on me
laughter and acceptance, love pouring freely from hearts so true
always someone wanting to listen to vivid imaginings
and when needed, provide a comforting word or hug
falling asleep midst the silence only heard in the country
in a somewhat dilapidated house peeling paint giving in to the wind
its sheltering roof under constant repair
nonetheless a castle to my young eyes
safe and secure, loved and nourished in every way
swathed in crisp white sheets, a prayer that it would always last
still on my lips as I drifted off to the peace
only to be found in a young girl's unknowing dreams
from my first breath until I donned my Grandmother’s gown
these are but a few of the many things
the days spent at Somerset will forever mean to me.

© Marcia MillerTwiford