Wila

There's a road in the mountains

overgrown in back hills

in places where pavement

comes dangerously close

to being smooth

This road winds to

childhood to this secret

hideout suspended in time

We wave here at strangers

who are life-long friends ~ children

of parents who grew up together

danced at prom together

and hid from their parents together

at the general store no longer there

We fill our hearts

with the comfort

of family saving room

for homemade ice cream

dripping from the porch swing

As we inspect cracked

panelling and peeling paint

and that which strains

to contain the detailed

imperfection trapped

beneath chipped and warped

shingle-covered walls

Concealing the snake

which lurks just out

of reach of skittish cats