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COUNTRY RAMBLIN’ S by Tamara Hillman
October 2006


Well, here it is Halloween, deep into fall season, and headin’ t’ward the
holidays. I must admit it goes by faster every year! (Must be my age!)
Autumn has always been my favorite time of year, and because of this, I find myself writing poems specifically geared to fall themes. I’m easily inspired since to me, leaves slowly changing colors and falling to earth when dead, represent Christ’s life and death. Spring once more represents his resurrection as trees that looked quite lifeless, blossom out in fresh new leaves.
Where I live in the Northwest, it is cold and wet in winter months. Low
hanging, gray skies almost drive me to the edge of insanity, (ah shucks, I confess I was almost there anyway) but I know beyond the dreary clouds, the sun is brightly shining. My hubby and I soon will be seeking that sun because we plan to be making a permanent move to Arizona as soon as the house sells. Yes, I know it’s hot there but my reasoning is this: I would rather spend four months indoors enjoying the cool of air-conditioning, than nine months indoors with the heat register on high… Now, I beg you, doesn’t that make more sense?
Another lure to the south is: No yard work! Our home there has a red
gravel yard. Yipee! We can cheerfully set out on the patio and watch the rocks grow. And what’s more—God can water the cactus and other indigenous plants surrounding the house when He sees fit. Ahhhh, my Steve’s retirement sounds so good to me?
I, on the other hand, will not be totally lazy in my fast approaching
later years because I have book signings, free-lance computer writing
assignments, and that bug jabbing me in the ribs real often to set down
and transcribe a poem or tall tale that starts running thru’ my head at
the dad-blamedest times. Writing is my passion, but in the middle of the night when it wakes you to jot something down, (in it’s entirety) it’s a dern curse…
I started writing after we lost our twenty-nine year old son. I had a hole in my heart as big as a semi-truck, and truly questioned where God was, or if He would find me at the bottom of my deep despair. I joined a writing group, purely out of curiosity (I thought.) Being raised Country, I soon leaned toward writing about childhood memories of growing up on a small farm as a kid. That led to Cowboy Poetry, and before long I was being published in Country, Reminisce, and Country Extra magazines. Then, through an old friend back home, I learned about some wonderful cowboy websites that might enjoy my poems and stories. I worked up enough courage to send in some of my work to this very site, then, prayed like crazy they wouldn’t reject it, laughing all the while. They didn’t, and here I am with a full-blown writing career all over the net, in magazines, in four books I’ve published, (with more to come). I give ALL the credit to God in receivin’ it too, especially in leading me to Becca and Steve who welcomed me on their Christian site with open arms. The Man upstairs sure came thru’ with His promise that He’d fill the void when something precious is taken from you. Don’t get me wrong, I would give ALL to have my son back, but in God’s infinite wisdom, He knew what had to be.
Enough about ME! Let me give you a sampling of my love of autumn with a ‘free verse’ poem (that’s one that don’t rhyme) and a short prose honoring the season…



AUTUMN SEASON

A country path meanders
deep in memory
thru’ the forests of my childhood…

Autumn colors—red and gold,
mingle near river’s edge―
Sumac, Oak, and Aspen wave
to me in passing

Leaves drift on the wind,
fluttering like butterfly wings,
swirling, dancing on air,
then fall down, down, to the forest floor,
crunching noisily ‘neath my feet

Languishing under leafy
canopies,
sapling seeds await spring―
Mother Nature takes her rest
as Autumn Season holds time
suspended

© 2003


HARVEST MOON

The weather is sunny and crisp…
Geese fly in V formations training their young for the long flight south.
A cool breeze whispers of change to come as squirrels chatter in busy
flurries, scampering along fence lines, and storing food in secret
hideaways.
The night creeps over shadowy land, and a hint of orange appears on the
horizon.
A harvest moon rises gently over the mountains, then, grows to full,
glorious size. Golden color floods land and sea below with a glow to
challenge the darkness.
A harvest moon like no other, reminding me of days gone by when crops were
gathered, fields furrowed, and cellar shelves lined with preserves.
All is well as I dangle bare feet from the old porch swing, and the moon
climbs high and brilliant overhead.
A feathery lightness fills my tired body as I stumble off to bed saying a
prayer of Thanksgiving to the creator of such beauty.
Serenity engulfs me, and I nestle deep in pillowy softness ‘neath
Grandma’s hand-sewn quilts.
As moonbeams streak across my resting place, I find perfect peace.

©1999


In closing I will add, “Life is God’s gift to you, how you live it is your
gift to Him.”

Granny Tam


 
 

harvest pumpkin



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