The Long Meadow [poem 3/6]

For sushi_slave, because he got in under the wire and gave me something to work with.

The Long Meadow

In the valley, my grandfather grew squash.
In his garden grew many golden things:
Tall corn and sunflowers and me, awash
In hazy light. On June's yellow mornings
We'd make pancakes, mischief, and fishing lures.
Afternoons berry picking by the creek
(That we didn't fish in, and it endures),
Sun-dappled brambles scratched our arms all week
So we could bake pies from summer's sweetness
And eat them too hot, burn our mouths, and hiss.
You remind me of him, of what I miss,
How I was taught to live without regrets.
When you are gone I wish for only this:
The long meadow, full of life and secrets.