I pull over in Burrville without thinking. It's second nature. Instinctive. Early morning light engulfs the white house across the road and highlights the water tank on the hill. Chilly air nips at my cheeks. I stand for a spell and gaze, empty headed. The connection here is intangible, but powerful.
Is this a village? A hamlet? A crossroads? Where's the general store? The garage? The post office? The grade school echoing vitality of kids at play? Then I realize they're always here. I bring them along everywhere I go. They revive in my sentiments, and the flood of warm and wonderful memories - 7 a.m. in Burrville.
Tuesday 22 April 2008