It is the trees that speak to me

Along with the moss covered stones

Meandering streams

and stars.

It is there the ancestors rest

Lived a hard life; content to tend to family and God

A man sat in his rocking chair, listening to the twang of strings

A woman picking flowers in her garden remembering her children

Ghosts whisper secrets as they linger

Aged barn doors ajar

There, a dog whelped some puppies, and there, a mule kicked the stal

Fence long fallen and replaced with shrubs

I heard West Virginia

and in this moment of darkness

it brings me peace.