Days left behind | Nashville Tennessee fine art, prose + poetry
I remember when I was young, when I went down to the creek and we'd hike and share stories, and pretend we were a part of a kingdom. I remember the sound of the peepers as dusk came around and we'd run home through the field and through the enemy's territory. I remember the summer days - the ones that went on and on, never seeming to end, but then leaving -
leaving too fast.