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Sunday drives into the country,
escaping the heat from the city,
passing tobacco farms along the way,
with old barns and rusty Coca-Cola signs
resting against their weathered sides.
Driving along the narrow two-lane road
we count the number of RFD mail boxes
placed in painted milk cans which announce
the rural ambience of each home,
we stare out the windows and enjoy the quietness.
A village general store greets and beckons us to stop,
farmers with straw hats and ladies in full shirt-waist dresses
are gathered on the front porch chatting to one another
and enjoying the cool ice cream cones wrapped in napkins,
our mouths water at the refreshing and delightful treat.
We leave our station wagon and run into the store to explore
smells of chocolate fudge, cinnamon and scented candles
which capture our senses----we are excited as we run around and
take in the attractive displays trying to discover all the treasures,
our parents remind us that we stopped for ice cream and not play.
Grabbing our hands our parents lead us to our original goal,
ordering ice cream cones at the counter for the entire family,
napkins are passed around but it doesn't matter since our faces
are smeared with the heavenly flavors of strawberry, maple
and other combinations making us lick the left-over goodness.
Further down the road we see a crumbling stone fence so typical of
olden times as we are told by our parents who insist we stop by and
take a closer look at the unique formation of bucolic New England,
old stone fences are boring to us, we would rather see horses galloping
away in meadows as if something scary was chasing them.
As we walk along the fence line of gray stone we discover a saltbox
home partially hidden by maple trees which house chatty squirrels and
singing birds announcing our intrusion of their territory----we whisper not
wanting to upset their domain and trying not to look obvious as we enjoy the sight,
a lady opens the front door and stares at us as we wave at her.
The sun is setting and it is time to drive home after the excursion,
my brother and I are sound asleep as our mother turns around with a smile
on her face knowing that the rest of the trip will remain quiet except for
our child-like snoring which interrupts her conversation with our dad by
an occasional giggle from us adding to the Sunday drive into the country.
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