I remember the wind blowing on the tall grass,
As it reached out to touch my legs.
How we all drank different drinks,
But out of the same pitcher.
Away from the city.
The people.
The mills.
Away. But together

I was only a small child,
All those years ago.
Blond hair that wailed in the wind.
With milk in my hand.
Wishing, whistling, watching the older men.
My flawless face not touched by a wrinkle.
All those years ago

The young adult with red hair.
Wanting always, to be excepted.
Water washing down his gullet
Dreaming of a future,
A family, a house

My father, middle-aged, a hard-working man,
Working for his family, his house, in the mills.
Hot coffee touching his lips.
Always going, always on his feet.
Protecting his son from the world.
A few wrinkles mark his face

The elderly man, in the hat.
Smiling
Watching the birds, the grass.
Still curious about the world around him.
Watching, whistling, wishing for the younger men
To experience life
To endure the wrinkles life gives you.
Enjoying a glass of wine
Dreaming of the past.

As the wrinkles now touch my face,
I know all of us are
Together. But away