Alex Taylor Spurling

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Longwood

It was not as distant as it feels, that I was living in a home that was distant. For many years of my unmistakably gentil years, I wondered why we ever left. My family had always promoted that they wanted us to attend a larger school, but I was not ready to go. The home from the outside was much to look at. The house had a pastel yellow shade to it; where I suspect, a most vibrant yellow once thrived. But, colors change and the years receive or neglect each one. This house was an exception.
The house must have always held an approachable aura to it; because, the neighbors would often ¨pop¨ in to say hello. Although the backyard was fort on it´s own. It had a tall wooden fence that reserved what felt like an acre of green grass for grazing, other than the decaying blades where a pool once lay. Our German Shephard would frolic, tongue wagging and all, as my sister and I dug for gems at one of many of our many excavation sites.
Though it was rural, the home was a part of a neighborhood, where believe it or not, other children my age also lived. Slowly over the years, we have all gone on. But, that neighborhood shelters some of my fonder memories. I still take my occasional detour and take a 7-second tour of the neighborhood, now as an outsider. When I see that garage door open, I resist the allure to ¨pop¨ in and say hello.

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