Rainy Thoughts

Raindrops. Joy from heaven. It's a typical afternoon in Illinois. Darkened storm clouds loom above Lake Michigan and seem to be rolling closer west. Driving up Sheridan Rd., I enter the hometown of my father. The scenery is much different than I am accustomed to in the desert of New Mexico. Trees are everywhere, tall green trees and lush grass. Flowers freely spring up, and in mid June many are blossoming. The homes are so picturesque and unique. Raindrops begin to patter their song as they dance across the windshield. Slowly, I approach the house where so many of my father's memories took place several years ago; the death of my grandmother bringing me back. The neighborhood has grown in 30 years, but the old red brick house still stands. Two strong oak trees guard the yard. My thoughts dart from story to story and then compare to the actual location. How times have changed. Life is so different and the past is quickly slipping away, right through our fingers. Days cannot be re-lived. The old driveway is now faint and covered in grass, the new covered in blacktop. The old field of weeds and wild flowers now a nicely manicured lawn belonging to a neighbor.