Its been forty-five days since the snows have begun
I stare at the fire and long for the sun
As the bitter winds blow through the mouth of the pass
I sit here and dream of the Buffalo grass
The Buffalo Grass – First stanza, Chris LeDoux
There is a patch of buffalo grass in the front yard of the little house. In summer, it welcomes me with a familiar smile each time I pass by. A smile from my past.
Its smile reminds me of the warm summer days of my childhood. Those kinds of days where sounds were muffled in the thick humid air and a warm breeze was a welcome friend.
Now And Then
The patch of buffalo grass at the little house is not much larger than the one that resided in the sideyard of my Kansas childhood home. A large elm tree grew to keep it company but not so close as to impede its need for sunshine.
The sunny side yard was away from the main routes in and out of the house. For that reason, it had a secluded feel about it. Although there was no barrier from the backdrop of the school building across the street.
Still, it felt secluded enough to sunbathe with the garden hose nearby serving as a source of coolant. The buffalo grass enjoyed the occasional watering, responding with a display of soft green to lay on. It was the pinnacle of luxury in my youth.
A garage is now in that spot. A much-needed garage. In fact, it was my idea that an attached garage should go in that place, although it was long after I left home that it became a reality. The patch of grass and elm tree is long gone, but I now have my very own patch of buffalo grass to enjoy.
Rescuing your story is as simple as some grass and a warm summer day. Objects are powerful image holders.
Look around you right now. What object stirs a memory? Give it a place of honor by writing it in the comments!