Was the light different when you were younger, or do the chemicals in the photographs yellow with age?

I’m sure it’s both.

Finding a box of old photos is like your own private time capsule. I remember…

 

 

Kentucky

On the outskirts of Louisville, Brownsboro Road
slices to the north, opening a rift between arid farmland
and housing subdivisions.

The asphalt branches of Barbara Manor blossom sidewalk
and mailbox from the fertile peat of Old Man Brown’s back 40.

Our nation’s bicentennial year brought a fitting gift.
Emancipation from nearby streets;
the manifest destiny of distant neighborhoods.

My 3-speed Sears & Roebuck Free Spirit bicycle had a
stick shift and a banana seat, its clear naugahyde saddle
held a universe of red, white and blue stars.

The Free Spirit and I blazed through dusty trails,
empty lots and rocky creek beds.
Limited only by the dusk, and its Crayola orange sky
I would race for home, arriving breathless
in the failing light.

In that time of national pride,
freedom was made real, and life more clear.
Corn in the field.
River upon rock.
I aboard my bike.