When I arrived at my dad’s place, in northeastern Oklahoma,
it was perfect homecoming. The hay had just been cut by a tractor that
continued slowly to the southern part of the field. That all too
familiar smell of fresh cut hay was in the air, and the sky was big. Big in a
way that is only found in a place with flat land. It was nice to be home, if only
briefly.
There are great things happening in Oklahoma City and Tulsa,
but there is something about small towns. Something that I have finally grown
to appreciate. En route to my dad’s, Liz had pointed out signs in a small town
that I had passed by many times before. I had almost forgotten that they were
there. We pulled over. Off of Highway 69, I took a couple of pictures of the
signs that I am pretty sure time has nearly forgotten as well.
