Windows are such a metaphor
for seeing clearly,
for looking out
or in —
in the mist
and i’m grateful for the views from my windows…
Thomas Wolfe wrote You Can’t Go Home Again, and the title has become an often-quoted phrase about change and memory.
Yet here I am. Back home in These High Green Hills. Living within two miles of my childhood home. Living on what used to be my grandfather’s orchard.
Sometimes a bit like being A Stranger in a Strange Land, but more often it is like being a stranger in a familiar land. Older and wiser, I see the familiar with new eyes — The Return of the Native…
New eyes that appreciate the beauty of the hills, streams, and roads of rural Appalachia.
New eyes that appreciate the need for economic development, but worry that it will spoil the ecosystems, the water, the landscape.
New eyes that see God’s mercy on my life and the blessings of coming home again.
Landscapes? Yep, I got ’em! About 500 on my phone alone! The top three were taken today; the others are from a greener season …
When we were seventeen,
We carved our initials
on the inside of this bridge.
Desecrating public property,
Yes. I know.
Thirty some years later
we drove down that same road
to see if we could find the bridge,
the carved initials.
I’m grateful for memories, for stories, and for those who care enough about covered bridges to make them historical landmarks.