A family friend had called me when the farm was foreclosed. Workers would come next week and clear away the house and barn that were now reduced to dust.

An hour passed, and I was still standing there among the ashen remnants of my childhood. There was only one wall that remained intact--the one that had been made out of brick.

I remembered helping my grandfather mix the mortar. It was unimaginably exciting for my toddler-self to be squishing a thick, pasty mixture beneath my toes.

I glanced down and saw that my white shoes had turned to the color of the old mortar that was barely joining the faded bricks. However, this time the discoloration was due to the three inch deep plot of soot that I stood in.

The past sixty minutes were still and reserved. I had just remained there, constant and unmoving, while overcome with the bitter flood of cherished memories. How winsome my youth had been! There in the scorched barn I saw myself once more, marveling at my first sight of a newborn foal. I saw myself setting milk out for the feral cats that occasionally would purr for a pat on the head. I saw my first kiss underneath the central column.

The column was gone.

A car engine approaching beckoned me away from my incinerated memories. My ride was here. I walked out of the debris of the old barn and kicked up the ash on my way out. It flew up and was lost to the air, as were my thoughts as I left everything familiar behind me.