Keddie Town

I rode my bike across the bridge

Above the Spanish Creek

The road cut many years ago

Its rock walls stacked so neat

And high above up on a hill

Log cabins owned the view

As Vinca covered hillsides

Held the mist of morning dew

My early morning venture planned

Did not prepare me for

This detour cross’ the trestle bridge

Where I’ve not been before

A railroad town once booming

Now a century ago

I see the remnants of your past

As I ride down your roads

The old Bunkhouse ahead of me

With covered front porch floors

Your pine tree cut out shutters

Painted brown some years before

How many story’s you could share

From all that you’ve observed

I stop to take this picture in

Search deep to find the words

The tall log Lodge across the street

Three stories tall you stand

Rock planters holding earth below

French windows look so grand

I bet your Restaurant patrons loved

To stop at lunch and dine

And sit around your fire pit

At night to share some wine.

I pedal on beyond the cabins

Lined along the streets

Below the bluff a dirt path

Gently winds along the creek

Beneath the pines and willows

Where the waters slow to calm

A sandy beach and tall grass crown

Both sides of this creek long

A perfect morning dip all mine

To share with no one else

Yet I wished everyone I knew

Could know how good this felt

When I get home I’ll write about

This special place I found

And hope someday more people find

This place called Keddie Town