Footprints in the Snow
James-Randall Chumbley
Why do the birds fly so high
How is it that the waves never cease to wash the shore
I dreamed of you last night
Why
We once lay side by side
That was so long ago
I was young
You were so strong
So many things we planned
I never feared the dark until you left
The snow fell so gently that day
And all through the night
So quiet and white
All seemed to be okay
But, I guess not
You left
I stayed
But your footprints remained
Three days
In the snow
I saw them through the window
On the fourth day – they were gone
The sun melted them, as if they were never there
I did not miss you until then
Until
Until your footprints were gone
Now, another morning looms
The night has almost gone
I can breathe a sigh of relief
One tear rolls down my cheek to the corner of my mouth
Just one
I seldom cry anymore
No point
Spring will be here soon
Perhaps I will spend it by the sea
The birds will come again
Everything will be fresh
It is life’s way – to start anew
But I still wonder
Where you have gone
Why do the birds fly so high
How is it that the waves never cease to wash the shore
I dreamed of you last night
Why
We once lay side by side
That was so long ago
I was young
You were so strong
So many things we planned
I never feared the dark until you left
The snow fell so gently that day
And all through the night
So quiet and white
All seemed to be okay
But, I guess not
You left
I stayed
But your footprints remained
Three days
In the snow
I saw them through the window
On the fourth day – they were gone
The sun melted them, as if they were never there
I did not miss you until then
Until
Until your footprints were gone
Now, another morning looms
The night has almost gone
I can breathe a sigh of relief
One tear rolls down my cheek to the corner of my mouth
Just one
I seldom cry anymore
No point
Spring will be here soon
Perhaps I will spend it by the sea
The birds will come again
Everything will be fresh
It is life’s way – to start anew
But I still wonder
Where you have gone
Published on August 31, 2017 07:47
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Alabama Snow
This is a picture of my mother and I taken in Fayette, AL. I'm always amazed by her beauty so apparent in her pictures. I remember her grace; how she held on to hope all her life. She was a contradict
This is a picture of my mother and I taken in Fayette, AL. I'm always amazed by her beauty so apparent in her pictures. I remember her grace; how she held on to hope all her life. She was a contradiction, a rarity in life. She fought to overcame great obstacles: growing up very poor on a cotton farm, mental illness, alcoholism -- my father's, and later her own, his abuse, his violence because of his fear someone would come along and take her away from him because of her beauty -- it became her prison. And then his suicide. She heard the shot from her bedroom on that volatile morning so many years ago. I was so touched by her life that I shared a lot of it in my 3rd book, "Alabama Snow." She was a remarkable woman, mother, and an inspiration and I felt her story had to be told. Her name: Mary Ellen Rushing Chumbley.
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