Passing Through Uncertain if it was my home, the shifting lens of time bears down on the house – nearer the road, the lawn shrunken; quartz stones that bordered clay beds beneath trees and shrubs, sunken in the grass. I take the lane at the bend of the road. Main artery of the farm and lifeblood of my early years, the rugged, sheltered path was a kindergarten of delight. On the brow of Scuab Field I name landmarks of old…...
