I like the small towns (when there’s not so much gossip going around)… that Norman Rockwell feel; that old American vibe…
Patriotic Flags line both sides of a main street that cut through the center of town, seemingly divide it into two sections of community–and the train tracks that are still in service–when you can hear a train proudly toot its horn at designated times of day or night… It’s a nostalgic warmth.
I like the old oak trees whose roots have uprooted pitted-aged cement blocks of sidewalk… (the trees keep living and need more ground to breathe)…
I still linger with stare, in awe and wonder, of historical beauty on the town-square–buildings tall and bricked, still proudly standing with strength and vigor–a little wear, but no years could demolish or dismantle…
I love the way the birds sound, singing their gladness in those trees, in such a rural-town heart of America… they love their town!
I like seeing the cherry-red firetrucks on the corner, like all the firecrackers I’ve ever seen lit in celebration of a small town in a section of America; on every 4th of July, each homecoming jubilee, a fireman’s picnic parade day, Veteran’s Day and on this day–Memorial Day…
…a time to reflect back on the strength of our beloved town in every nook and corner or area of a fine Country- that still stands for something of worth and value–but also for the souls who died in our land, perished also off home turf–a place so far away in another territory who could not make it back in time for another supper around a dinner table with family–one more welcome-home party, another church ride on Sunday–a second glass of lemonade under a shade tree… Let’s raise our hats, lift them high up in the air to God and Country, and to all those fine souls who went on before; “my Country tis of thee”…
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