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Watcher at the kitchen window

Everybody else had a house by the side of the road but our farm home kept its distance.

It was five-minute trudge

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from our modest built-onto house

to the roadside mail box. (I remember

some brave and determined lilacs

along the way.)

At the time of choosing a farm

our Mother had found her voice;

she liked this place.

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She could see from the kitchen window

any visitors turning into our driveway.

The distance gave her time

to don a clean apron

and quickly get a few things in order,

not forgetting the bread in the oven.

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