I remember this place as the ghost town of Windy City, Pennsylvania. The photo was taken in the summer of 2009. That's all I know about it. I never labeled it, and so here we stand. It's just a nameless place, somewhere up North, where (in many ways) my heart still is. Probably Windy City. You can tell where the town used to be because of the trees planted alongside the road, all in rows, and the domestic flowers that still bloom in former yards, where oil derricks crank away noisily.
I truly believe that forgetfulness occurs in increments of three years. I can remember last summer, and if pressed, the summer before that. But three summers ago? That's where things begin to get hazy. More than three years ago is the territory of dreams, and visions, and imagination. I do recall things from as early as thirty-eight years ago, but they're more the property of dreams than of reality. I was a child, and the visions were childish. Did those things really happen? Shouldn't there have been some responsible adults around to make sure things were better than the way I remember?
Ah, but "The wind listeth where it will." Isn't that right, Windy City?
I grew up in this ghost town. I am 48 years old and I can tell you all about the history and citizens who once lived here alongside and with me. I have fond memories of riding my bike on this road. You may email me at anchka2@hotmail.com
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