Concho Green
It's that lazy time of year
along the Concho, winding gently
through the verdant pastures, flotilla
of leaves drifting with the current
cows munching grasses in the fields.
It's that hot and sticky time of year
where my great grandfather used to homestead,
luring a gal from her St. Louis city life.
where as she fell in love with his wandering river
he convinced her to make it her home.
It's that shoo fly time of year
when chores are interrupted by ice tea
and watermelon, neighbors gather in town
on Saturday night to dine on chicken fried steak,
and peach pie covered with a dob of vanilla ice cream.
It's that humble time of year when family memories
were once are passed down through generations
to eager ears sitting around the kitchen stove
in the cold of winter, now replaced by big city
family gatherings far away from their origins and truths.
It's that fragrant time of year when children
roll up their pants to cool down in the river shade
on another overheated afternoon and frogs
compose songs in the night time shadows,
It's that wandering time of year when a gal
from St. Louis might give up everything
to live among shades of green
along a gently flowing Texas river.
Author: Peter A. Witt
Photo Credit: Tabitha Dumas on Unsplash
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