Drifting back. . .

. . . to a time long ago when you would drive with the campus behind you, past the two big churches. The sinners’ church was on the right and the church where I made popsicle stick projects every summer was on the left. If it was a good day, you didn’t turn right and go to David’s family business, but headed on down the road. A quick zig-zag of the road and old houses with different memories – crawling in the crawlspace under this one, fireworks in the backyard of that one. Seeing the ghosts of friends, family, college students or townsfolk who would become friends. You didn’t want to go too far and end up at the old snack food warehouse, so you turned left on the north section of the road and took it all the way to the end. You didn’t pause at the tiny market or old metal playground. They were for walking traffic, not car traffic. The destination was there at the corner. The house on the right with a drive-through carport and landscaping based on favorite flowers instead of careful design rules. The cattle across the street made quiet background noises and the people long gone, marveled at how wonderful you were. Time stood still and the bubble of family kept the rest of the world far, far away. But now, that is all a faded memory, filtered of all but the good by time. Sometimes, it’s alright to let go of the bad and just hold on to the gold.

Don’t get run over in the parking lot Newscoma.

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