8x6 oil and cold wax on a plank
Since the time my mother passed away, I've had urges to go visit places.
To the place where I grew up, to where my grandmother grew up.
I'm not really sure why.
I drove out to the place where I grew up, with my childhood friend
that I recently reconnected with on fb--after years of not seeing each other
or knew where each other were. Thank you fb!
Anyway, we drove to the "small town".
The winding road we lived on was the same...
the curves, the hills, the twists, the turns.
But the surroundings changed.
I don't know what it was that I was looking for exactly,
or what I was expecting to find.
Did I expect to see myself as a girl jumping rope,
swimming in the river, riding my bike, or climbing trees?
The roads used to be gravel-sprayed with oil on top.
I remember having to scrub my feet before I went to bed
because I refused to wear shoes.
Some of the roads were just gravel, there used to be one road
that was a set of tire tracks with a ribbon of grass in between.
There were little rickety abandoned buildings--all gone now.
All the roads are paved,
most of the summer cottages are now big year round houses.
A part of me felt sad because there was nothing for me to hang on to.
The beach where the neighborhood kids hung out was gone.
My favorite climbing tree gone, in fact the woods where we used to play-gone.
What they say is true, you can't go back.
When you search for some tangible part of your past, it's not there.
Someone bought the old rickety shack or the summer cottage and tore it down.
I realized that sometimes you have to let go of what you left behind,
to make room for someone else's dreams.
I have closure now. Maybe that's what I was after all along.