Tennessee December

The cloudy skies are troubled
And the cruel winds of December
Are blowing hard against my shoulder
As I walk the dog too slowly,
More slowly than I wish.
Tennessee is painted in shades
Of business grey and pilgrim browns
And I can still smell the coal smoke,
The salt-cured country hams
And the broad, brown turkey and all the fixins
Billowing up unexpectedly
From somewhere off the center
Of the whirlwind
Tossed there with old toys
And sepia photographs
And the days I still remember
In moments of maudlin repose,
Driving through these neighborhoods
Which were once the hunter's fields
And the pathway worn back home,
Long gone but always there to see.