In this house

So many times

for so many years

the scenery in front of his eyes

has changed

yet remains the same.

In this house

on this side of the glass

excited and frightened at 19 and 17

he and his bride

felt the fluttering of their first child

when the trees were young

and hills were alight with autumn’s hues

as life together began.

In this house

on this side of the glass

with their own hands

they built room after room

for five children,

never fretting that floors were uneven

or wall joints didn’t match.

They were warm

and were not weary.

Grace and generosity abounded

in this house

on this side of the glass.

And now

after another Thanksgiving

surrounded by family and plum pie

through the glass

he peers and ponders

as his son burns the brush

of the once young tree

that because of weakening limbs

was hewn down.

Like an abandoned Thanksgiving table

its stalwart stump stands in solitude

against the sunset

of another passing day.

And in this house

on this side of the glass

so many times, for so many years

the scenery in front of his eyes

has changed

yet remains the same.

© Donna Arthur Downs