Postcard from my Hometown


Crunching in the leaves, we traced a familiar path through my hometown, passing the house that was my favorite as a child. Ornate peaks and gingerbread trim always made me imagine an interior with a mahogany carved fireplace, a cozy library filled with books whose leather spines were worn from countless readings, and perhaps even a hidden passageway or two. I thought that one day I’d live in this house, a house that stood witness to the church across the street, where, some eighty years ago, my grandparents came to elope, opening the church’s apple red doors, their hearts full and hopeful of all that was to come.