As a child in a furrowed field of yellow grass, in an out of breath hurry, I ran past, what was in yesteryear gone by a home, now three walls of crumbling stone, and one wall a bank of burnt wood and grass, red bricks tumbled and broken glass.

I ran four miles to see my friend, to play and dream in the summer’s end. In the muddy fields that the farmer plowed, I lost my shoe, and my sock somehow. I found my shoe but my sock stayed stuck somewhere deep in the earthy muck. I cried to think of my mother’s glance when I came home with a one sock stance, but I ran on to tell my friend of the stray dog I had encountered then, and how I had followed it to the knoll where the shrubs and bushes hid the hole that I knew was…