#1751-Rituals

Early mornings,

When farmers gathered

By a lone house.

During winter months,

When it was dark,

Only their voices carried,

But not very far.

Delivering milk,

Every few days,

Exchanging stories,

During their wait.

But those days are gone.

Now the farmers meet,

By a different house.

It’s a shame,

When old rituals end.

Like chapters of a book,

Never to be opened again.

I miss those moments,

When days were simpler.