Walking Through, Riding Home [From BA 43-500]

Walking Through, Riding Home

by Stanley Noah

It all started one morning a few years

ago. Left the house, down porch

steps, across the lawn to the side

walk. But this was a some where

different day. One like I had never

seen. I could smell wood and coal

burning. And all the

houses had chimneys. Suddenly,

I noticed walking forward

was also like walking backward in

time. Children playing roll-the-ring.

A forgotten game. All women had

long hair, long dresses, sun hats as if

they were characters right out of

Gone With The Wind. Then a breath

of horses could be felt on my back

shoulder. A big mare coaxing me to

ride past barns, haystacks, down by

the old silver river, the Mississippi,

and on board a noisy steamboat

toward home. Every minute of it like

another life like another memory,

traveling like a trunk full of letters

with dried pressed flowers between

pages, taken to an attic beside

a small window that never forgets.