Time to hit the hammock

This is likely to be a short entry. I’m getting ready to leave my parent’s farm in Georgetown and head back to what is becoming an increasingly empty apartment. The space that had been occupied by an eclectic assortment of “stuff” has been replaced by just as many memories. Enough memories to spill out into the streets, just as we always did. By the end of the month we will essentially erase any evidence of our three years there. Our walls are tree rings, a new layer of paint for a new life. That same paint preserves the pencil drawn dart board that lies beneath. That makes me smile.

Goodnight moon.