The house we are born into and the house we dream are rarely the same space.
The house we are born into is rarely the house our father has built for us.
The wood of my father’s house was seeded when he was but a child.
In the year of my father’s engagement, he and his father cut and planed,
then framed the house in which I and my brother grew up.
Here I learned the words ‘vertical,’ and ‘horizontal,’ while watching
the sway of tall red pines, waving in the summer breezes, groaning below
the winter snows.
Here the eye of the soul commenced a dream…
Leslie D. Bartlett, June 19, 2016