By Wendell Carvan
As a child, I thought the days and years of my childhood
would be endless. I thought the green warm days of spring and
summer would never end. I built destroyers and battleships from
2X4’s and tin cans and sailed them in the pond below the house.
My fishing pole was always ready when I decided to dig up a worm
and my dog Jack that Dad got for me when I was born was always
ready for a trip somewhere in the woods or creek. I thought the
red skies at the end of the day only signaled the end of another day
and time to eat supper.
But I now realize that the red sky in the evening that I
saw as a child was not simply the end of another glorious
day but in fact was the reflection in the sky of flames burning
around the edges of the photograph of not only my childhood but of
the way of life of everyone I knew. And it signified not only
the end of the day but the beginning of the end of a season and the
end of an era. A time that I thought in my innocence would last
forever. And I see now that over the past fifty years the fire has
consumed the photograph of not only my childhood but the
childhoods of all of us and the winds of "change" blow the
ashes into whirlwinds where they will be lost forever.
Wendell writes: "I am retired and now live near Oakland, Mississippi, on the land where I was born in 1936 - the land that belonged to my Dad and his Dad before him. I learned electronics in the Navy and was a video technician and small business owner in Atlanta for 30 years. My wife and I now share our lives with a retired Quarterhorse and a Jack Russell. Life is good."
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