Misty morning’s chillled with white fog as the sun shown piercing its heart through the cravings of dead leafs, tree branches and twigs broken from a recent rainstorm, it spurned the beginnings of an early fall – it was a masterpiece that could only be seen in the eyes of one’s childhood.
Those early chilled mornings in rural Oregon along the Applegate Trail bring tender memories of a childhood that was never forgotten. It was written that the storm would pass and that life would return to the homestead. It was only a matter of time – whenever the decision was to come to return to the homestead.
It was only the beginning of a mystified morning as the fog harbored above the towering Douglas Firs along the trail, the only sounds of life were the train whistles tooting their horns on locomotives of the 1800’s , the fog was unstoppable as life was peaceful as one would call a blue heron on the run from the point south.
It was life on the Applegate Trail that kept the memories alive with the chilled fog and crackling of the leafs that fell to the ground a few weeks earlier – I ask myself, “do you ever miss the childays, when you wish you had it all once more in life?”.
You better believe it, it just doesn’t feel like an oldie, but only Jack Benny would know better, so it must be fall?