I hear the dancing music, and the voices of happy youth. I think, even, I can smell the sweat. Earth. It has been a long time. Standing under the eaves under the shadow of a broken bulb, I wait, contemplating how, in the strange twistings of fate, the familiar can become the strange; how you can never return home. A slight breeze, and at the hint of summer grass, freshly mowed, I am a boy again. I am memories of running and laughter and play, of wildflowers and riverbeds, of dogs, faithful brutes. Distant barking draws me out of myself.
The Alien
Tale Told 