
We were poor, but the world of a child knows no rich or poor. My daddy was a Sharecropper, my mother worked in the cotton mill making thread, Ma who was well into her eighties crochet doilies, my sister was going to marry a young soldier, and me…I ran barefoot in the cotton fields and roamed the caves in the bluffs of Burleson Mountain near our house. My heart sometimes aches for those times, the tarpaper shack, the little white church on the mountain; and the innocent days of yesteryear. They are all gone now, only I remain with the memory of those long ago days.
However, I find that I can return at any time and stay as long as I want. Memories never grow old.
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I just love this! Thank you for sharing it.
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I agree the memories never grow old, and I take comfort in it.
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Those were the days…
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Sounds a lot like my childhood…lord, I miss it. 💙
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Enjoy the memories. They sustain us in the more complicated world we inhabit today.
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I quote, “ I find that I can return at any time and stay as
long as I want. Memories never grow old.”
Yes, it is true that you can ‘RETURN’ (as Jews says it) any time… But instead of memories I suggest use ‘the soul’ or ‘the spirit’ because only these are eternal.
The one who remembers the childhood, teenage, youth, grown up is not memory but the soul.
The movement can be recorded against a constant. The soul or love or beauty are names of the constant and the eternal. We forget a person’s name then who searches and where? It is not remembered! so it is not in the memory.
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Thank you, your comment is so meaningful, I appreciate it such insight and needed to be written, E.
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The soul does not remembers but keep ‘watching’ like we watch the traffic of city from a high rise building. Without any prejudice or thought just watching.
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Beautiful thought and writing. Thanks for visiting and following my blog!
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