It’s been seventy years since I last went home.
So much has changed. I don’t recognize the place.
Back then, it was just one main street of a few brick stores, all surrounded by farms and houses.
Now it’s a freeway and offices and franchises of everything.
The farms stopped raising corn and wheat, pushing up one final crop of subdivisions and retirement homes.
It’s just like everywhere else these days.
If it weren’t for the Welcome sign, I wouldn’t know where I was.
Where did the spirit of home go?
Covered by concrete and lights and conformist modern life.