MEMOIR

Crying Out to Crows

Wishing she could fly away

“Life’s Sweetness”

I still remember
Trips to my Grandmother’s house
Over the river
And through the woods, I believe
Is the song we used to sing

Smoke from chimneys near
Bright birch trees and snowy roads
Grey clouds hovered high
Bubbling brooks trapped beneath ice
We’re closer now, Grandma dear

Crisp winter silence
An Irish Setter runs free
The crow calls us in
Apple pie and cinnamon
Nothing ever smelled so sweet

Over the river
And through the woods, was the way
To Grandmother’s house
Snow, smoke, pine, bread, and pie
Recall the sweet visits there

We were a large family, typical of the Adirondacks in the 1970s. Thanksgiving was almost always spent at my grandmother’s house in the woods. Her home was nestled deep in the Adirondack pines.