I visited a small town from my childhood. What was left were shells of buildings that were once the center of a community. A gathering place to discuss the harvest or watch Ed Sullivan on a black and white TV through the hardware store window. Like so many small towns of this era, a nearby interstate robbed the community of it's lifeblood. In nature, a fallen tree or the leaves of late Autumn are reclaimed and used again to live in the Spingtimes to come. Nature reclaims man's creations as well. It has begun in Cynthiana.

The ringing of the payphone drew my attention to the city hall building. The phone rang to no avail. I was tempted to answer it. Finally the silence returned and I left with memories in color.