Wisps of Memories
Crossing the irrigation ditch a pungent woody smell draws me in.
Memories from twenty four years ago waft to the surface just as pungent aroma drifts.
Always drawn back to the highlands of Papua New Guinea moment is as fresh as the smell.
Wisps of time gone by surface once more.
As exited the little Cessna greeted with high pitched joyous singing.
Dropped in the middle of Shangri-La.
Tetons of Wyoming dropped at the equator.
Its lushness tastes like fresh strawberries they bring.
When the rain drums upon the barn tin roof.
Reminded of the night in Port Moresby jet lagged.
Can’t sleep, smell of dampness as rain drones rhythmically on tin.
Wondering what I’m doing so far from home.
Mind drifts again to another time even further back, thirty two years.
Hum of rain on tin roof of mud hut outside of Gonaives comforting mind.
Treacherous journey in a Toyota Land Cruiser in torrential rain to the Albert Schweitzer Hospital in Deschapelles.
Two desperate parents I’m driving with a young child stiff with tetanus who later dies.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
Written for an online poetry class.
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