Down in the Hollow

A little Halloween spookiness I originally posted about a year ago. 🙂

Down in the hollow

In the whispering breeze

Dark branches grip and grasp

Their knobby hands naked of leaves

Reaching and scratching

At the white stones below

The silent stones standing

Down in the hollow


Their cold, weathered faces

Peer out through the weeds

The brambles grown wild

Where paths no longer lead

Once names where there graven

But wind and rain leave few traces

Of the identities carved on

Their cold, weathered faces


No one now knows

Who beneath those stones lie

No flowery tokens are left

No tear in a remembering eye

Down in the hollow

Where the whispering breeze blows

Lie bones that once walked, who

No one now knows

A Beautiful Sadness

This is in response to a prompt from Stuart McPherson over at dVerse.  I wish I had a photo to put with it, but the closest I’ve got is a sketch I did with quill and ink several years ago while visiting this place.  This is about a country road in the tiny village of Ashford Hollow, NY where several generations of my ancestors lived, and the old graveyard on the hill there where they are buried.

A Beautiful Sadness

A windswept hill

Along a lonely country road

Where rustic farmhouses barely changed

In over a hundred years

Dot the forested hillsides

Sitting amongst golden fields of hay

And the leafy green rows

Of corn fluttering in the breeze

And the cows lowing serenely

Behind post fences


This is home

Though I have never lived on this hill

The blood in my veins recalls

Days of horse drawn wagons

And self-reliance



Across the field

Stood the homestead where

My grandmother was born

And there

Just down the dusty dirt road

Her parents, grandparents, great-grandparents

Lived, worked, played, loved

Helping to settle and tame the wilderness


And here they are still

On this windy country hilltop

Gathered together

Beside the corn stalks and pastures

Weather beaten stones of grey and white

Look out over the valley

Silent as the bones beneath my feet

Unable to answer

All the questions I could ask them

But greeting me in their silence

And welcoming me home

Ink sketch looking from the Dutch Hill Road cemetery across the valley to Rocks Springs Road, Ashford Hollow, NY