Making my way out the front door, I cross over the wood porch, then down the set of wood steps (which need to be replaced) and down the set of cracked concrete steps to the equally cracked sidewalk (on second thought, everything needs to be replaced). I feel my dad on my tail and when he’s made his way down the steps, I turn to him quick.
“What the hell is going on, Dad?”
He gazes not at me, but into me. He sets both his hands on my shoulders.
“Things around here seem different, don’t they, Scout?”
I feel my hair blowing in the summer breeze. Soon, the sweet smell of fall will be here and all the leaves on the old oak trees that line the street, their roots heaving up the concrete sidewalk, will be turning red and orange and beautiful. The change of seasons . . . At least there’s one t
