This afternoon, I drove up to the house where I grew up...the house where my mom lived until last March...the house that's been empty for over a year. I don't like going inside now. But around that house, I see the same things that have been there every summer...
the sweet peas with a butterfly searching for its sweetness...
the bramble of wild roses on the bank across the road...
the 'crick' behind the house with water that barely moves...
under the flat rocks where my brother and I would look for crayfish...
and, finally, behind the overgrown thickets of weeds, the wall that was built by my great-grandfather still stands.
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