Driving in the rain, I see a sign.
Tourist Information:
Covered Bridges Maps and Tours.
swirls of starlings –
patterns in the wind,
murmurs of the wind,
of the starlings,
of the heart.
I almost stop for a brochure.
No. The real thing
can’t equal the memory,
even in the rain.
– Sarah Russell
Photo by Robert Thompson
For Poetry Pantry, Poets United
Sarah Russell Poetry 
I loved this poem, Thanks for sharing it.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, John.
LikeLike
Oh those sights and sounds on the road….lovely!
LikeLike
We drive across country twice a year. I always get a poem during the trip. This was one. Thanks for stopping by, Donna.
LikeLike
I hope you got the time to stop for the sights despite the rain… but maybe the rain is part of the memory,
LikeLike
Yup. 🙂
LikeLike
A beautiful poem full of starings.
LikeLike
I am one of the few people I know who loves starlings. Thanks, Sherry.
LikeLike
I like the murmur/murmuration reference to starlings – so appealing the thought of covered bridges in the rain – One of my favourites of your poems
LikeLike
Aw thanks, Laura. That means a lot.
LikeLike
Indeed those brochures definitely do NOT do justice to the reality……so well expressed.
LikeLike
Thanks, Mary. Absolutely right. One of my favorite parts of living in Pennsylvania.
LikeLike
“even in the rain” – these words mean so much.
LikeLike
Yes. For me the crux of the poem. Thanks.
LikeLike
Lovely in its nostalgia.
LikeLike
Yes. Many memories. Thanks, Rosemary.
LikeLike
I was there in that moment with you and a brochure won’t capture the memory but your poem does it beautifully
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Marja!
LikeLike
I think I read Bridges of Madison County first, then driving around New England stopped to take pictures of every single covered bridge I saw. A completely unsubstantiated love affair !! Like your poem, says so much without saying anything.
LikeLike
The covered bridges in New England are wonderful and very picturesque. And yes, the poem is one kept in mystery.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This resonated with me, since I live very near Indiana covered bridge country. It’s a lovely day trip back to yesterday!
LikeLike
The best is when an Amish buggy drives through. Then you hear yesterday as well. Thanks for visiting, Bev.
LikeLike
The real thing
can’t equal the memory,
even in the rain
Nothing like being there to discover for oneself. Clever thoughts Sarah!
Hank
LikeLike
Thanks, Hank. Yes, that’s the turn and gist of the poem.
LikeLike
How powerful the memory is, recalling far more than a photo on a brochure for something extra is imprinted inside you. This is certainly the case with me where childood memories are vivid yet the real thing pales now in comparison.
LikeLike
Funny how that works, isn’t it Robin. I think we sift out parts and they brighten as we age, though everything looks smaller if we go back to see them again — backyards, school rooms, houses.
LikeLike
‘I almost stop for a brochure. No. The real thing can’t equal the memory, even in the rain’ .. this is so beautiful and so true!❤️
LikeLike
Thanks, Sanaa. When I lived in France, I bought a book of drawings — cartoons really — of the different monuments, parks, etc. When I got home it was my favorite souvenir since I could recall my memories of the places without a photo of how it was “supposed” to look.
LikeLike
This is wonder-full … so delicately woven … it wafts from the screen.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Wendy! High praise!
LikeLike
Such a beautifully visual write–just lovely!
LikeLike
Indeed, the real thing never equals the memory, but they still feel so good in the heart of Imagination’s skin…
…this is so lovely, Sarah.
LikeLike
Oooo, in imagination’s skin… How beautiful that is, Magaly. Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person