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This old gal…
Lives near Sycamore Street…a street…rich in history…built on top of a creek…the street…lined with trees…gigantic…glorious…beautiful trees…age old…Sycamore trees…replacing the rusty old sewer lines…building a new road…those trees…almost all…of those trees…the keepers of the watch…the storers of history…must…come down… The neighborhood buzzed…air filled with sounds…saws whirred…limbs fell…branches crunched…one by one…those icons…were hauled away…and Sycamore Street…was transformed…gone was the umbrella of leaves…creating a tunnel of coziness…in its place…the stark contrast…of bright openness… This old gal…took a stroll down the now seemingly barren way…her heart sad…for the loss it had endured…but then…a mile or so into the trek…realization set in...a chapter may have closed…for Sycamore Street…but the story…was not over…for what to my wondering eyes should appear…the homes…once shrouded and hidden behind those ginormous enveloping trees…emerging now…as the main character… Dainty…adorable…gingerbread like houses…telling a different story…a new story…a story…with a beautiful…happy ending… And this husband of mine…agrees…
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This Old Gal
Devoted Wife Magical Mom Retired Teacher Embracing life's grand adventures with humor and grace. Archives
March 2026
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