Very profound my friend. The seasons of life...spring, summer, autumn and winter. My childhood home sits in a different state from where I live now, lived in by strangers. And... I wonder...are my initials and secret thoughts still scribbled underneath the kitchen counter? Does the sound of my father's footsteps still creak on those set of stairs? Is the sound of our suppertime laughter as children still float in the air in that old dining room?

Thank you.