Grandma sits at the treadle machine.
While sunshine pours through veranda screens.
Up and down; the dainty feet.
Moving the needle; deftly and neat.
Palette of calico.
All shades of yellow.
Cottons so soft and threads everywhere!
Soon will be a Sunday frock to proudly wear.
Ruby red jam; bubbling and bright.
The old black pot; one sorry sight.
Kitchen clutter and helping hands.
Jars in line on dark, cellar shelves.
Treasured jewels; come mid-Jan.
Kneading the dough.
Arms strong and sure.
Loaves fresh from the oven.
Fragrant and pure.
Cookies and conversation.
News of the day.
Tea steaming and strong in lily black cups.
Skies clear and sunny; chasing the grey.
Supper dishes will wait until morn.
As darkness draws near.
“Goodnight, sleep tight”
And hugs ’til tomorrow.
The old ways…
Special times that never fade.
Bring a smile to mind.
On the most difficult of days.
“The Old Ways” © 2008 Geraldine H. Hartman