The Breezes of Middletown

When the wind is just right, I can close my eyes and pretend I'm in Middletown, pretend I can see the Blue Ridge Mountains off in the distance with the haze that gives them their name. Farmsteads, hundreds of years old, reappear in my mind, and cattle graze happily all around. I see the ancient road stretching westward, site of much marching and many skirmishes, the conduit to Antietam and Gettysburg. Near that road, I raised my children. There is no desert there, no sage; just woodlands and deep jade grass. Middletown is my heart, my soul, my dream. And if God calls me home and finds me worthy, Middletown will be my heaven.