adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, September 04, 2011

Country Home

Rain on the roof,
dog on the floor;
feelin' rich
though the bank says I'm poor.
Truck out back,
maybe it runs;
some look down on us
but we're the lucky ones.

Country home,
not much here is new;
peanut field
for a front yard view.
Rooster crowing,
rise with the sun;
when the day ends
got a day's work done.

My country home,
where I want to be;
it's all good here
far as I can see.
Greens from the garden,
peach from my tree;
my country home
is the place for me.

Rain on the roof,
cat on the couch;
it doesn't get better,
I can vouch.
Life tastes sweeter
than a honey comb,
right here in my
country home.

Stephen Brooke ©2011

Ten minutes or so to jot down (well, type) this little lyric. Probably pretty much a throw-away but I may work up a tune anyway. Now what shall I so with the rest of this boring rainy afternoon?

I am glad to have the rain from this tropical system though it will be coming down all day and all night and all tomorrow. We need it. Boy, do we need it!

I was looking over my YA novel (of some 53,000 words), The Middle of Nowhere,  that I wrote more than a decade ago. It's not that great but I think I may just do some rewriting and get it out there. I do need to differentiate it somehow from some of my more recent stories which are first-person under the pen name of 'Branford Perry,' as the settings rather overlap.

Branford Perry, btw, is what you will read on a road sign in the center of the small town of Mayo FL, pointing toward Branford the one direction and Perry the other.

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