When we first came to El Dorado County, we lived at the end of a little dirt road, on acres of ponderosa pine, incense cedar, black oak, and manzanita. After 24 years we moved closer to town; the place was rented and now, finally, has a new owner. Here’s a terza rima sonnet I wrote in 2012:
A Winter Too Many
A quarter-century we lived astride
that ridge – a house we built by hand, beyond
the nearest neighbor. Waxing moons would glide
across, and hawks, and bats above the pond
where bullfrogs sang beside a scummy foam –
below the bank, a delicate green frond…
a fox with kits, a doe with fawns would roam
that newborn place. But were we getting old?
Our cabin in the woods, adventure’s home –
the woodpile-walks all winter in the cold;
the snowbound road; and February’s douse
of freezing rain – these tales too often told.
The sandhill cranes, the cupboard’s deer-foot mouse…
and shall we give up memories, with the house?
~ Taylor Graham
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