Revisited

Sunday afternoons are always good times for reflection. I went to the old farmhouse that I had spent a good deal of my childhood in, after the conclusion of my sunday church services. The house, which was never very impressive to begin with, was in shambles, and a weatherbeaten shell of it's formality in my mind. The smell of sage still clung in the air, as I had remembered. I touched the ground that my bear feet had once trod hundreds of times over a decade ago. I didn't know why, but it made me sad and I felt like a dark cloud had been hung over my soul. It is always hard when this happens because I don't know who to turn to except God, and most times he makes me deal with it anyways. I looked around for some sign of memory that would give me hope and a little peace, and as I looked, I noticed the setting of many stories and many small moments that will always matter. Winter is still in full effect as I gaze on the mess of everything, but I didn't notice the cold as much as I noticed the growing hole in my heart. I realized the fear that was coming, and told myself that it had no place in my life. Even though I don't know the outcome of my journeys to come, I do know the direction i'm heading, and I pray that I may be led to good ends and good beginnings, for where somebody is going is all that really matters. When I look back on my past I realize that with each decision I made, came a lesson to be learned and appreciated. I still can't help but be haunted by it...