near the end of summer
light takes on a certain slant
If the moment is right
I'm taken by an old memory
I sense the air is golden-blue
The old house
on top of a slight hill
Paint fading
on the clapboard and filigree
An enormous tree spreading
shading the beautiful
time-worn place
I believe
I've never been here
this place inside my mind
Although this peaceful scene
brings me quiet joy
I'm never quite certain why
Sometimes I think it might be heaven
A place to transition though
A waiting place of sorts perhaps
Others might call it
false-nostalgia
for lack of any better term
To best describe the feeling
I amalgamate two separate words
It might do to explain it as
nostalgic-deja vu
A longing to return
Where
I'm not quite sure
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