We all have a place we would like to return to; a place from another time in our lives.

There was a tree with a tire swing and rotting 2x4 boards nailed into it for steps. A rag-tag combination of other pieces of wood helped to form a path up from the ground into the winding limbs and from there out onto the sloping roof of an old bus that had  definitely seen better days. A wooden ramp down the other side of the bus provided an easy way off.

From the top of the bus it was possible to see for what seemed like forever across flat Texas plains. Fields sprawled all around, and cars drove down the narrow road nearby. Every once in a while a plane would take off or land at the airport there in Harlingen, Texas, and the lights could be seen against the darkening sky.

The sky was alight with shades and hues of purple, pink, and orange as the sun set and the stars began to sneak out; stars unadultered by the lights of civilization.

And we would sit and talk underneath them.

So here we are, once again, climb up and we can sit and talk about where we've been and where we'll go, memories made and memories being made.

Welcome to the Dead Bus.