The neighborhood I live in used to be known as Paradise Woods. My husband tells me when he was a teenager, it was a popular spot for “parking”. When I walk, I cross over an empty lot to get to another street. Whose land is this? I often wonder. What was here before?
I’ve heard tales that this space was once a dairy farm. Cattle farming was common for early French settlers in southern Acadiana, where we live in Louisiana. Either the LaSalle family or the Daigles owned this property, likely using it as farm land. It’s all legend now. I love thinking about the history of this little walkway as it leads me under a beautiful cedar tree. Who walked this field 100 years ago? We’re all visitors for a short time. If the concrete could talk…
In the early morn
Margaret Simon, flash draft
before the sun rises
before my work day begins,
before the houses wake,
I walk across this path
more sure-footed on solid concrete–
A path that leads to an old cedar tree,
planted by a farmer making shade
for his cattle. I speak to his ghost
and thank him for his hard work,
his dedication to the land,
and his kindness to those
who’ll pass here again
Every week I invite you to write with me about an image. This post is also a Slice of Life post for this month’s daily challenge at Two Writing Teachers. If you stop by, leave a small poem in the comments and return the favor of reading other poem offerings and writing encouraging words. This is a safe place to write. No judgement allowed. Consider following my blog to get this weekly prompt in your inbox.
Reflections on the Teche 
I like the way this poem has the idea of thanking someone from the past.
Footprints from the past
Guide me on my way
Will I too leave behind
Something good?
Oh, yes, that question should be with us all, “will I leave behind something good?” Diane, I always think of my grandparents and all of their efforts and sacrifices for me. You brought that back in a lovely way this morning.
I love this question. It goes alongside my One Little Word, Purpose.
Footsteps Along the Path
Janet Clare Fagal
Eyes awakened to light
ears tuned to bird music
scents of sweet flowers
wafting by. I thumb
my worry stone,
its heart shape
defines all I need.
I breathe in joy,
breathe out love.
And walk, and walk,
and walk.
Janet Clare Fagal, © draft 2023
Janet, we walk together with our heart-shaped worry stones. Thanks for writing today. I feel inspired.
So nice to hear, thanks, Margaret. Even when it is dark in the world, I want to see the light. So I walk and write and write, too. Like you.
Before the day comes,
before I rise,
before ”going to school” is a thing,
before the sun is up,
this path awaits me,
to walk the path
to good
deeds.
Author: Avalyn
Date Published:3/8/23
Title: The path.
Oh Margaret and Avalyn, your poem about “walking the path to good deeds”…..it is truly an inspiring way to look at paths be they made of concrete, be they in our head as we awake to start our day, be they the next poem we will write to share our heartwork or the way we will lead our lives. Your poem made me happy, Avalyn. Good deeds are so important and needed. Your poems are certainly a good deed when they touch others! Thank you.
Such a beautiful picture and clever, meaningful poem of thanksgiving. Thanks for the invite. I might take you up on it.
Thanks to Margaret for this most interesting photo. I walk and walk lately, this will be in my mind, as will the heart shaped stone, something good, kindness… with Avalyn: the path awaits. Thank you all for your lovely poems! Mine:
Courage
The path
forward is
uncertain
Edges blur
and fade
Where
is hard
Truth?
draft KE
I love how you used the image with the grass growing over the edges to reflect how life’s path is not always clear.
Karen, the uncertainty of the reality of life and we carve out our paths and our habits to make some semblance of order and then…..well there is always a nagging thought or more, right? I try to always remind myself that our days are numbered and precious and that our friends and family and poems are precious, too. When I find my path filled with rockiness, I look for the light and the hope. Your poem reminded me to be more alert in this moment! Thank you.
I love your line “if concrete could talk…” which inspired this draft by CPC-
Those who laid my foundation
may not have had free will
free speech
freedom.
But
I provided a path
a walkway worn by tired feet
in search of shade from the scorch of life.
Cindy, this is so powerful. I like how you considered the people who built this path.
Love “a walkway worn by tired feet.”
Thank you for the inspiration!
Margaret – your photo and poem got me to thinking…
Concrete slabs
Overcome by thick grass,
a patchwork of industry
Taken back to nature.
Look closely,
Do you see the tiny flowers?
Do you notice the oyster shells
Held for eternity,
Cloistered in those worn slabs?
Memories in stark relief –
Hold tight to your dreams.
This is wonderful. The word choice. Cloistered is such a good word! It makes the path seem sacred. Thanks for joining us in writing today.