The Getting Back To
The Getting Back To It was the tiny tents that tugged at the corners of my mouth, twitching them into a smile. Their strings were well planted in the ground, and it was the care behind the ties that got me. Most of the tents had stiff poles, their "skin" stretched just enough to cover the shrubs underneath. The tents were private–a cozy suite showing just how important each bush was to the landscape. Some other houses had cloths draped over the underbrush resembling children dressed up as ghosts for Halloween. I half expected that if I lifted up one of the short sheets I wind find a giggling toddler underneath. In front of one house a piece of fabric only half-covered the green head under it, perhaps to emphasize the red, white, and blue lights still decorating it. The scene for some reason struck me as intimate–so much so that it could have been a child's fort lit up by colored lights in order to read the tales of some passed down story book. Maybe the story spoke of Ch...