many trains and many milesWe met on a street out in the middle of Brunberry. Often times, we'd sit on the curb, watching the middle aged man in the corner house fix up his boat-of-a-car. Or, on Sundays, the chubby, bakery-esque woman would walk her grandchildren down the road to church. We were young, then. I still visit that street in Brunberry, and, in fact, it is called Feldspar Road. The man on the corner, with the old car? His name is Charles North, and he's a retired mechanic. The grandmother is dead now, but her daughter and grandkids moved in a couple years ago. I still come back and check up on those people, and I still watch the leaves fall in autumn and watch water pool around our favorite bench in spring. The air is just as crisp as when we were children. Feldspar Road is just as it was when we were young. / -- / Just off of Feldspar Road, there is a park. Really, it's just a wide, open field, with unkempt grass that the neighborhood has picnics and late afternoon barbecues on. Do you remember when we stopped by the Feldspar block party on your twentieth birthday weekend? It was warm and the sun was blinding; a perfect July day for grilling out in the park. You pulled me down onto the dried grass and we watched all of the familiar people gabbing and gossiping with neighbors. Charles, grandma and the children, that young couple that had recently moved in. These people were like our family, even though we didn't live here. They made us feel at home.