Home Again

Everything Changes, once in a while.
I’m not a fan of the word every(thing),
every(time). Not everything is an every anything.
It’s a bit like when someone tells me that, “I always…”
when in fact I don’t always anything.

I drove down a little dirt path, covered with leaves,
to this old, dilapidated, and left-behind mill. At some
point, it’ll not be crumbling. It’ll be gone; traveling with
the current of the lake toward the small stream leading
into the forest and back home again.

It’s possible that we all go back home again.

-M. Taggart

Mill

 

(photo credit- Matt’s cell phone.)