Smoky Mornings

On a misty morning like this,
With the low hills of northeast Kansas
Caressed by fog and covered with dew,
And the fresh new of a September morning
Muted by such clouds as this,

It is hard not to miss the soft smell
Of hardwood fires smoldering in old barns
Beneath heavy tiers of dark-fired tobacco,
Gray smoke pressed close to earth
Slowly drifting beneath tall hickories,

Across thick fescue
And sifting through the fences
That line the banks and ditches
Following the low slopes and hard cut curves
Of narrow backroads in West Kentucky.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
This entry was posted in Farming, Metaphysical Reflection, Poetic Contemplations, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.