Cerulean Valley.

The air was broiling. My eyelids had become adjusted to a comfortable squint that allowed me to absorb the ultra-bright, penetrating light of day. The heat was practically unbearable. Nonetheless, I kept marching through the tall, blue-green grass of gently rolling hills that would eventually lead me back to the road. The music of cicada-like insects echoed throughout the valley. The fields covered a vast area that would only look flattened if viewed from above. Unfortunately for my aching feet and dehydrated mouth, it wasn’t that flat. Each time I struggled to make it on top of the next hill, the road kept getting a little bit closer. I could see the dark gray stripe through the atmosphere-distorted haze, and I knew I was almost there. “Just a little bit closer,” I thought, “and I’ll have made it.”

“It” was the narrow gravel and dirt road that led up to the house. I remember growing up, there were acres upon acres of land like this less than an hour from where I lived. However, the grass around me now was so much lusher and neatly cultivated than anything I remember.

There was a tree up ahead, so I decided to stop and sit beneath its shady canopy for a while, just to catch my breath and rest my legs. While I took my break, I looked around and noticed that there were no major signs of civilization – no power lines or telephone poles, no other houses or structures as far as my eyes could see. I wondered what happened to them because I didn’t even see any signs that those things had been removed. About the time I thought about that, a breeze caught the back of my neck and ushered me to my feet so I could continue with my journey.

I left the tranquility of the tree to venture to the top of the next and final hill before I met up with the road. At its highest point, I could not only see the road below and the faded point from where I came, but the house as well. It was like a speck in the distance. Stepping onto the road, I recognized that I still had a long way to go. I started walking anyway. After all, I didn’t really have much choice. Besides…the house promised shelter and food and company. It was the dwelling I remember from when I was a kid: one story, ranch style, with a silo in front and a lake in the back. I could see it take shape the closer I got to it. Although, the closer I got to the house, the less recognizable it became.

I was only a few hundred paces from the driveway when I realized it wasn’t the house I remember at all. My worn out feet picked up the pace so I could investigate further. This place looked somewhat similar to what I could recall, but there were slight modifications. For starters, it had two stories instead of one. It was elongated in the front, and the windows were even bigger. The silo was still there, but even it seemed bigger. I got to the open gate at the end of the house’s long drive and went straight to the mailbox. Then I knew I wasn’t where I thought I was at all.

The name on the mailbox said “Goodwinning.” There was nothing else on it at all, not even an address. There were quite a few trees dotting the front and back yards. That was a welcome change from the place in my memories. I headed around back to check out the lake only to discover that it wasn’t there. It looked as if a lake may have been there at one time, but not anymore – just a dry, dirty lake bed full of weeds, but even that looked good when it was viewed with its surroundings. While I was traversing the yard, I walked up to the back door and found an invitation to wander inside the house.

previous : back to top : next