Kristen Sublette

I’m chasing a feeling.

Like an old faded photograph that lives in the back of my mind.

Like the hot summer sun beating down on the pavement of yet another mountain highway,

I’m chasing,

Like an old greasy diner, the kind you used to smoke in.

I’m chasing something just out of reach.

That old tired town where the shops are local and you gotta drive to that next town over to find the chain stores.

Where fields stretch endlessly over hills, through the countryside, and right up to your doorstep.

That feeling when life is a bit quieter and you can hear the birds whisper their wisdoms.

I’m chasing a familiar feeling,

Yet it’s just out of sight.

I’m chasing the smell of mountain air as the breeze rolls through the pine.

I’m chasing nights around the fire, looking deep into the stars.

I’m chasing laughter in the backseat as we travel backroads.

I’m chasing Dad’s stories of the past.

A train whistle blows.

I’m chasing a day long forgotten but a stirring deep inside.