Pat, Best of luck to a really wonderful guy! Hope you’re always happy! Stay as nice as you are and you’ll never, but never have any problems! May God Bless!

~~Sue M.

May we always be friends!

[From Page 102 of my 1963 High School Yearbook Tom Tom]

[Arial view of my hometown. Owego, NY. Photo: Fred Brown Collection]

If you are a friend of mine, an acquaintance, reader or just a fan, you are aware that I grew up in a small town on the Susquehanna River. The Southern Tier of New York State. The indigenous people who first lived there referred to it as Awaga, which means “Where The Valley Widens”. The photo above shows the old cantilever bridge, the dilapidated buildings of Front Street. These are the streets I walked when I was growing up. That was the bridge where I would stare at the crushing ice on frigid January days.

It’s all different now. The new bridge looks very smart. A RiverWalk takes you under the renovated RiverRow shops and restaurants. But, somethings never change. My memories. My adventures. The good times and the bad times are etched into my cortex, only to die when I do.

So I gathered my friends, John, Jean and Judy to compose an ode to my hometown. I thought I would keep it simple, clean and spare. I refused any embellishments, any hyperbole or exaggeration.

So here is my simple song to Owego (AI helped me a little):

Beneath the cerulean canopy of the sky, my hometown unfurls its splendor like a cherished tapestry, woven with threads of golden sunshine and the delicate hues of blooming magnolias. The meandering river, glistening like a necklace of sapphires, winds its way through emerald hills and pastures where wildflowers sway in harmony with the breeze. Each cobblestone, worn smooth by generations of wanderers, bears witness to the footsteps of childhood escapades and stolen kisses beneath the willow trees. The very air is laden with the scent of fresh-baked bread from the corner bakery and the intoxicating perfume of jasmine that lingers in the night. Oh, how I love this town, where the very soil sings with the stories of my ancestors, and the stars above seem to twinkle in recognition of the profound bond between my heart and this haven of cherished memories.

There is a saying in the community of writers that states never use a quarter word when a nickel word will do.

I hope you enjoyed my small change. If you click “like” on this post, I will tell John, Jean and Judy all about you.