I was sitting on the porch this morning in Natchez, Mississippi, soaking up the atmosphere. The sun was shining, it was warm, and I could smell the fragrant flowers nearby. I took a picture of the scene from the porch:
I knew my husband was packing up the car and would soon come to tell me it was time to leave Natchez. I felt like I'd had this experience before -- and I had -- 40 years earlier. My father said we had to move from Natchez and it was like my world collapsed. I never really thought we'd actually leave such a wonderful place -- and we ended up in Halstead, Kansas, for a year.
I had sat on the porch of our house in Natchez when I was young, waiting for my father to shout that it was time to go. I dreaded the moment so much, and I never forgot what it felt like. And now I had it again today, but, of course, in miniature because I can come back when I want to now.