Memories come from the tiniest bit of action. I was pouring a Coke into my glass. That simple act sent my mind to recall a time when I was very young watching my father collecting water from a spring in the side of a cliff. It’s like a snap shot. As I write this I can examine more detail. We were in a 52 Ford sedan. It was painted a brownish pink tan color. The spring came out of a crack in the rock close to the side of the road. Someone had pushed a piece of pipe into the crack to make it easier to fill bottles and buckets. Dad was filling empty coke bottles.

Strange what will trigger a memory.

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