The beautiful hills and valleys and wooded areas of Wheeling, West Virginia became my playground when I was young.
Bicycles and feet were our main mode of transpertation in those days. They took us everywhere, to school, to the Friday night serial at the movies, most everywhere within reason. Asking parents to take you some place was a bad thing. A sign of weakness and baby stuff.
My dear friend,
Do you remember the time we almost didn’t make it? Yesterday, I thought about our famous escapades in the good old days when we owned the world. Every day was a new beginning for us. Those were the wonderful, happy years, the times memories were built on. I remember it well.
We were ten-years-old and best girlfriends. Days of spring and summer, autumn and winter became years, then the awful day when we were parted. Mom and Daddy moved to a state full of asphalt, speed traps and radar. How I missed our beautiful West Virginia countryside. It was awful! Being separated broke our hearts. How we missed each other. We wrote letters but it wasn’t the same. We couldn’t giggle and trade wild flowers and plan escapades in a letter.
I journey back many times to those wonderful days, and you’re always there waiting for me.
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On a cold, starry winter night, three days before Christmas, two, ten-year-old girl friends sat on a curb on Washington Avenue, waiting, wishing, and hoping for snow.
The full moon hovered in a cloudless sky, making it so clear you could see every twinkling star. Moonlight beamed onto the white blanket of snow that covered the ground the day before, bouncing slivers of silver. Soon snow clouds rolled in and hid the moon and stars. Then the snow came. Light at first, then heavier, until the flakes floated down like tiny balls of cotton all around us.
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