In the heart of the holler,
where the sun breaks softly,
children laugh like sparrows,
their voices dance on the breeze,
fleeting remnants of laughter
gathered among the rustling leaves.
*
Time moves in circles.
An old oak stands sentinel,
its gnarled arms
cradling stories of yesterdays,
old tales of love and loss
etched deep in the bark’s embrace.
*
The brook babbles along,
bearing secrets passed through roots,
where wildflowers nod in agreement,
colored petals like memories
painting the canvas of life,
vivid against the browns of earth.
*
At dusk, the silhouettes
of ancestors rise and fall
in the shadows of the firelight.
They share their tales of toil and triumph
in the language of the land,
its cadence shaping them still.
*
In the coolness of dusk,
the stars awaken,
twisted strands of forgotten dreams,
each one a beacon,
a reminder that the holler remembers
the stories that shape us,
long after the voices fade.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (2)
This just feels so… free? It made me feel like a kid again, walking through the forest haha. As a kid I lived in Alabama for a bit and would run around with friends. This brought back that feeling. Loved it, Tim
This feels like it needs to be a song!! “wildflowers nod in agreement” My new favourite line ☺️