Was the grass really greener?
It was about 8:15 p.m., and the sun had already slipped over the horizon. Traveling down this unfamiliar street, my eyes were drawn to a pretty lamp in the picture window of a home. Softly lit, the lamp sent me back about 50 years.
When I was a child, I knew people who had that lamp burning in the window, and that lamp resided in homes where I wanted to live.
As a little child with only a few birthdays under her belt, that lamp in the window said a lot. The lamp usually lived in those big fine houses in town; the ones this little farm kid dreamed about and yearned to live in, instead of a drafty old farm house situated five miles away from everything.
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