Burnt orange and brown oak leaves cling to trees.
Green grass smothered in yellow and brown leaves.
It is a New England morning I wake up to.
Sister in rocking chair, in silent dining room, reading prayer book.
Coffee scents kitchen with toasty flavor.
Icebox hums to ticking of clock.
Fogged window panes tell me I’m here, at home, in New England where my ancestors once roamed.
I am the ancestors. They are part of my DNA. Through me they live. The joy I feel is their joy.