Friday, July 5, 2013

It was about 4:00 p.m.

I approached a tattered church. The doors and windows were boarded up, discarded clothing and trash were strewn about. One sad tree stood in front. And the air smelled like strawberries. How? I stopped. There was a low breeze. Unopened mail skittered across the dirty sidewalk, past my feet. It was unmistakable. Strawberries.