a last note from your narrator

passing through

when i travel through the back roads of unfamiliar small towns
(somewhere in virginia, or kentucky, or pennsylvania)
i always get lost in their magic.
i wonder if others find the same magic in our quiet little valley.

while we make our way down main street i think about the memories.
so many people have built their life around main street.
that corner is where a girl had her first kiss,
and the building down the hill has been empty as long as anyone can remember.

but i don't know that.
because this is not my main street.
when you go down the hill of my main street
(slowly - the speed limit hardly counts as 'speed')
you don't know the stories forever kept in my mind.

the public library is a second home,
the creek at the edge of downtown is haunted,
the elementary school playground is the source of many of my injuries,
and sometimes i swear the fields of corn whisper to you.

but you wouldn't know that.
you don't need to.
after all, you're just passing through.