Memories of my past flash in front of my eyes every few seconds as I walk around my old house in Marion, Kentucky. The country home is surrounded by fields and woods where I spent most of my youth. So little has changed, yet everything is different.
As groups of people carry out couches, tables and boxes, I can’t help but remember the day that groups of people (some of them the same individuals) were carrying those items into the house. That was 16 years ago, almost to the date.
Everything is the same, yet everything is different.