When I moved to the holler, Lil’ Sister Cabin was right bashful…
Slow to meet a stranger, she stayed tucked away in her own little world.
But over time, with a care and attention, Lil’ Sister shed her shell.
It didn’t take much to coax her into a new coat…just a gentle brush and a sure hand.
I believe Lil’ Sister’s coming into her own.
Bright green shoots of new grass are poking up all around her and on her far right corner, I’ve planted a climbing yellow rose.
Sometimes I find myself wondering if the ghosts of the ones who came before ever stand around watching the progress. I picture them huddled beneath one of the old maple trees, a motley group of miniature old folks, bent with age, murmuring among themselves as we work.
Up on the ridge, the wind rushes up the far side of the mountain, slams into the trees and pops limb against limb, wood on wood. Leaves rustle, shadows dart like jack rabbits and I look up half-expecting to see a bit of faded denim disappearing around a corner.