Lonley Cabin

The wispy shades of green and white
Circle about in a vast complexion
Of days gone by, and summers lost in the wind.
The door hangs open flapping lightly in the hot breeze,
The window frosted with the dirt and dust from
Times of hardship not seen, but heard.
Heard in the footsteps as I enter the cabin,
Heard in the dust falling to the floor,
Heard in the echo of my whisper,
Heard in the absence of sound.
I can almost see them working:
The husband fiddling with the absent tools in the back,
The housewife cleaning the dishes in her dull grey
Skirt and apron.
The kids at play outside on the sea of grass.
And the Horses in what used to be a stable --
That now stands in a pile
Of Burnt lumber on the ground --
Pawing at the dirt with their hooves
And shaking their tales at the flies.
I wander over to the old worn out
Chair in the corner and gingerly sit
Everything from the past whizzing past as
The clock starts to tick-tock-tick-tock
Again after so long of not making a sound.
Taking a deep breath, smelling the sweet
Essence of time and Echinacea
I stand up slowly and leave the cabin
Another Tourist,
Another Pest,
Another Nobody,
To the lonely Cabin on the Range.