Cynthia Hall Lanier

Cynthia Hall Lanier

Tucked in the pines where the ivy grows

and sun spots dance in the shadows

She and Mary played hide and seek,

giggling sisters with secrets to keep.

Time spooled on and Mary flew

great things to learn and do.

Cynthia followed her mother's tracks

to the department store, then followed them back

to that sweet place that time forgot,

where pansies bloom in a weathered pot.
In another house just around the way

lived the man she'd marry one day,

who at the farmer's market likely she passed,

between them not a glance cast.

Now all these years since

with neighbors they talk at the fence

of what's good at the farmer's market today,

then on to sweep the stoop where her cats play

and smells of home cooking fill the rooms

and on her face that sly smile blooms,

rabbits and cats and freinds to her delight,

a blue glass cat at the window catching the light.

Janice Baynes

 May 2012 

Majesty of the Mountains

Something about the mountains pulls me as a magnet I cannot resist.  Something ancient in my bones, something I cannot name. Both my parents were of the mountains but my young feet traversed only the folds at the foot of the mountains where the skirt ripples out over the land.  As with the trees, I want to melt into those hills, sleep cradled in their bosom. Why do they call me so? What do they want with me?