Once upon a time, before the houses were built, I could walk half a block from my doorway and step back in time to when Indians hunted along the slopes behind our home. They left arrowheads for later neighbors to discover and treasure.
With little effort, I could walk through the tall grasses and glance down at the clear water of Beargrass Creek as it journeyed through the neighborhood moving past the city of Louisville on its way to the Ohio River.
I spoke to the great trees before they were chopped down, telling them how sorry I was that they must leave this land they had guarded for the Indians and us. I took photos of them with my mind and with a camera I would lose, because I had much respect for their length of years and guardian strength.
It is a comfort before I sleep to close my eyes and feel a summer breeze blow across my face and see those great trees sending their branches back and forth, marking the rhythm of time shared by those great trees and me.