Sleepy Town

Forever changing in a town that never does.

It’s strange to look back at that old park where you skinned your knees at the age of seven and remember the smell of your grandmothers hair and the way she smelled of blossoms as she swept you up into her arms while you cried over a scrapes knee.

You see other children playing there, knowing that time is passing and you feel a sense of nostalgia reminding you that time is indeed passing and you are changing.

The older neighbor who lives in the one story home with red shutters still yells for her dog every night around 9pm like clockwork reminding you that it’s almost time to sleep.

The town clock chimes on a dime every day at noon, the constant reminder that yet another day has almost passed. You sigh in disbelief. How is it you can change so much in a environment that never does.

This sleepy town is a constant reminder that time isn’t standing still even though it is.

The street lights as beacons to guide my way home on the summer walk, I walk through the streets at dusk, watching the lights pass and slowly taking in how each home slightly resembles the owner that possesses it.

Sunflowers for the elderly woman whose husband has passed and kept her garden going when he left.

A gather sign for the young family just starting to raise their children with hopes and dreams of Christmas time when their children come home from school.

A plain blue door with two rocking chairs neatly on the porch for the elderly couple who built that home with their bare hands and will stay until god has called them home.

It seems everyone has their place in this town, but me. I ponder the thought of where my home was truly meant to be.