Image by Dirk Juergensen
Jules starred into the vast distance.
The old, majestic Mansion loomed ahead.
The tree lined lane was filled with brush, and limbs and death.
Those limbs had shaded that lane for many a generation.
Jules removed his hat and shook his head.
He was filed with dread.
Jules bit his lip and uttered a silent prayer.
It had been too long since he'd journeyed this way.
He had been young and dumb, full of himself and full of stubborn pride.
But then, so were many men of his generation.
He'd been gone now for many a day.
Lived his life, had his way.
Jules thought long and hard and closed his eyes.
He heard the sound of the rippling waves and birds crying.
His mind wandered to another time and place.
Before he grew too big for all of this.
Before loved ones started dying.
Before rumors started flying.
He lost track and he floated through that time.
The rowboat slowly cracked into a huge old tree.
He snapped back to today; to this time and this place.
He gently guided the boat through the waters.
The old Mississippi had been set free.
Overcome its banks and made all this mess you see.
Now Jules family homestead loomed ahead.
What used to be a tree-lined lane was now a lake.
He only hoped the family he'd run from . . . was here for him to rescue.
It had taken him years to get here, he needed them to be here.
He had things he needed to say, amends he needed to make.
He only hoped it wasn't too late.
He pulled the rowboat close to the familiar old gate.
His hands shook as he pulled the boat close and tied it tight.
This was the moment of truth, the moment he'd been hiding from.
Why did he wait until this catastrophe of nature to come calling?
He used his fingers to cross his forehead, an old Catholic right.
He hadn't done it in years, but right now it felt right.
Jules jumped out of the boat into the cold, clammy water.
It took his breathe away as his heart started to race.
He almost lost his balance but used the gate to steady himself.
He lumbered forward trying to keep calm, trying to keep faith.
The water was deeper than he had thought, almost to his waist.
He did not know if he was ready for what he might face.
He made it to the front door, slightly cracked open.
He looked up into the northern window, to the place that Mama was kept.
Was that a candle in the window, or a figment of his imagination?
He was born in that room, and his Mama had died in that room.
He cried silent tears for the woman he had never met.
He made his way to that room, saw his father and wept.
prompted from a photo prompt at @MyWordWizard http://www.mywordwizard.com/poetry-prompts.html
Also posted at:
11.6.2011 Poetry Pantry Week 74
11.29.2001 dVerse Open Link Night