Trailed off memories invade my mind as I litter the roads that guide our way. The autum leaves kiss the windows o' so gently, as the smell of buttermilk craddles the air. Tears glide gently down matched faces.
How could I forget the swing that lifted me towards the sky and the wooden house that stood so high. I was finally home, after what seemed centuries ago.
I was the age of 22 and my mother and father stood infront of me in snow tipped heads and wrinkled outfits. The holidays followed behind me as I walked through my childhood corridors.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years danced with days of old. From nursery to dorm, I was finally