Morning comes and the only thing moving outside... are the trees, in response to the breeze rolling across the back yard and field beyond.
Rush as they might to get here on Thursday evening, after working all day...wanting nothing more than to clear the city limits...and arrive here on the farm, they will look forward to going back this afternoon...subtly longing for the hustle and bustle they call home...much as Dorothy and Toto after their adventure. They have received their farm fix...that semi-annual shot of pleasurable, agricultural adrenaline, found only here in Greenville, New York...far north of those busy streets, stores and Malls... Away from the 30,000 they say live in East Meadow... To a place where you can see stars at night, by simply looking up, as opposed to cupping your hands to obscure surrounding streetlights, to see the same down there.
It's all the same defining features... this mundane excitement... the routine differences... for us, enjoying the past, brings the future, as we all sometimes long to discover the new within the old. On each and every visit, on the last day...just before their leaving, we resolve this paradoxical dilemma at one of two venues, depending upon the departure...for in either course... we can find release of these needs, within those historical, final hours.
Either place of yesterday, forgotten... will hold and captivate us until the last available minute, when all must cease and our trails must part...for it has become a last day tradition that we walk among the past in the present, at Leeds or Coxsackie, in the antique shops present at either place.
At that very last minute... we will bid each other farewell, with hugs and kisses and Bill and Loraine will click their heals together and chant, "There's no place like home...There's no place like home..."