Just a lot

Just a lot

That door at the end of the Williston United Methodist Church Sunday School wing was my fathers workshop where he kept the tools from before I was born and I  now own. That large oak once had a large compost, worm bed of which we sold 50 for a dollar and used to fish mostly in the Whitehurst lakes. The next oak once had a tree house my brother and I spent much time in. The end of the ramp was the place we would climb to the roof and lay out, mostly my sister doing that. I would use it at night to look for UFO's and girlfriends coming to the A&P. There once was a tree in front of the workshop door where I would sit with my father and where I taught myself harmonica and composed many poems. And the lot too once held our home, the old white wood parsonage. It was moved toward Ocala I'm told. So when I park upon that spot where the garden grew, the gophers roamed, the boxer Goliath kept basketballs for himself from the brothers, the fishers came for the worms, the tools were used by a father who loved them, I walk quietly and reverently.