It's March. The wind is chilly and the sun is warm. I grew up here, though I was born Up North. I grew up here, was marked by it, wandered away for two decades and returned via a winding mess of mishaps and odd fits and starts in other directions. I didn't steer myself back so much as drop from the sky, look around, and think, "here again?". Not much has changed here in the rural south which makes the 'travel in space but not in time' issue so much clearer. See, I can walk to an exact piece of land, parking lot, corner that I stood on as my ten year old self and it looks the same, but I can't walk to the exact time, the space is there, the time is not. I'm on the corner but I'm not ten years old anymore and no one, not one person, not one bird, not one cat, dog or other living creature is there, it's just the space, void of all context - well - maybe this grass or those trees remain but I think they exist in their own time anyway. I think in places where time moves slowly, like this place, it's harder to ignore the fact that we can visit space but we can't visit time.
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