When I return to the land of my childhood, it is with such sadness. Gone is the little one-room school I attended, the little roadside church that was an important hub of our community, many of the little farm houses and barns. Even the fencerows where the pheasants and quail used to hide have been removed so the very last acre can be farmed by the big conglomerates who now farm the land. It was such a bucolic life. Now passing from the American scene, it remains clear in my memory just as in the Lawrence poem above---the air softer, the colors brighter, and the mornings more fragrant than ever again. Thanks for stopping by. Credits for many of the elements I've used go to Oscraps.