writing again,

(day forty-nine)

Days like today remind me of my childhood.

The wind tosses scattered clouds across the sky, breaking up the chatter of mid-day songbirds and lonely fingers of breeze grasp at the dangling leather strap of the dinner bell. Sounds echo across the empty in the early spring, and by mid-summer will be lost among the corn fields. Meals are a communal event, and though you may not know your table neighbor, you know them to be a friend.

The internet is a fad, electronic mail is a silly idea, and there is a rumor that one of the teachers has a phone that doesn’t need to be plugged in to the wall.

Technology hits urban centers first, and it doesn’t get much more rural than Melba, Idaho. I was born on the cusp of a new era, and I was fortunate to grow up in the old world. Fortunate, because unlike many my age, I tasted a time before digital technology; fortunate for no other reason than I know what came before.

It was so much simpler then. Whether that is the absence of technology or the precursor to growing up, I do not know.

Days like today make me nostalgic.

Nostalgia is the most confounded emotion, but… what is life without it?

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