It seems so short, nine letters, a week, a yearly vacation time. However, what seven days says now feels like a lifetime. . .
The Old Starkey House is a memory, all of our treasures now safely in storage with Chief Longwood standing guard, a handful of cigars his only payment. I am without the animals that have been constant companions since I was a small child. The loss of Chester stings sharply once again and I can still see Mrs. Brinkley laying on the checkerboard floor of the mud room. Colonel Beaureguard has not awaken me with revelee, nor I have I found Buckwheat's egg in the planter by the red door.
This seven days will not bring the renewal in faith from an energized crowd of coffee clutching Christians nor the smile of a waitress at a Golden Bear breakfast.
Life has changed this seven days. . .