Digging Up Bones

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We woke this morning to rain and autumn winds whipping the trees. By lunchtime the rain had moved out for a brief recess. A friend of ours took me and my two brothers down by the river to what was once a coal patch of houses on the hill side. We were told we could find some old coke ovens still in tact up in the brush. As we drove slowly along the railroad tracks we scanned the wooded areas. Suddenly, through the trees, we saw some glimpses of holes in the side of the hill that looked like abandoned coke ovens. We waded through the weeds and brush and sure enough, there they were. The fronts were gone but the brick work inside was still holding it together. We actually crawled into the oven and took photos which you can see below. It was a great day for finding skeletons of the past.

Autumn wind and rain

Not enough to hinder us

Coke Ovens still there

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Coke ovens burning at night

Coke Ovens Burning in the early 1900s – Photo provided by Ed West

Frank Tassone suggested we do a Haikai challenge using either autumn or spring winds. Come join us at:  https://frankjtassone.com/2018/09/08/haikai-challenge-50-9-8-18-autumn-wind-aki-kaze-spring-wind-haru-kaze-rosh-hashanah-haiku-senryu-haibun-tanka-haiga-renga/

 

 

Attics

attic

Why do we store away the traumatic events of our life? For some, they are just memories of past events. Others store their injuries and pain like treasures in the attic. They no longer have any useful purpose in life, but the lack of forgiveness keeps them alive and tender. It becomes our personal Pandora’s box that no one wants to open. We all know it will only be a review of past pain, that no one but a psychiatrist wants to hear. Time to clean out the attic and let go of things that continue to haunt us. Forgiveness doesn’t take away the memory or the hurt, but it takes away the necessity of reliving it over and over again.

Attics

Dwelling on collections of the past

Memories never moving for many years

Stuck, reliving events that won’t go away

Collecting dust of regrets

Stimulating coughs and sneezes

In anyone who dares stir

Attics for old treasures long remembered

For some, treasures of hurt and pain

Treasured to nurse pity and sorrow

Dusty old treasures of the mind

Blade twisting each time

Pandora’s box

Avoided by all

Only to be opened after death

Some better left for ashes