Season to Season

  NOVEMBER’S KALEIDOSCOPE (Cinquain) by Sara Etgen-Baker ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the leaves fluttering down in a vibrant display nature's kaleidoscope of hues dazzling

Before the advent of America’s interstate highway system with its pristine ribbons of concrete making coast-to-coast transportation more efficient, the popular mode of long-distance transportation for Americans was riding the train. My brother and I were children of the 50s and, as such, grew up riding the train, enamored with the spirit of adventure associated with traveling by train to places unknown.     Our train rides always began at Union Station—an elegant building built in 1916 and one that’d withstood the test of time, remaining steadfast amidst the ever-changing Dallas skyline. Dad dropped off my mother, brother and me at the front entrance. With suitcases in tow, we stepped onto the  upper level concourse. I always paused, gasping for breath, its 48-foot vaulted ceilings engulfing me. I usually closed my eyes breathing in the musty, old building smell and gently touching the worn surfaces of its unassuming, antiquated chairs.   “Come on!” Mother excla...

        Our home was a symphony of chaos, a joyful whirlwind of laughter, spilled drinks, dropped food crumbs, and my younger brother, Eddie’s, incessant mischievous antics. Despite the chaos, a sense of love, warmth, and contentment permeated every inch of our home.   At the center of this happy mess, nestled on top of my grandmother’s buffet, stood a testament to my parents’ marriage—a magnificent lead crystal vase, a wedding gift to Mother from her dear friend, Robbie Hilliard. Its delicate curves and intricate designs caught the light streaming through our living room window and scattered tiny rainbows across the walls. As a young girl, the vase mesmerized me with its ability to capture the sunlight and transform it into a kaleidoscopic display of colors. I often sneaked into the living room just to admire it from afar, dreaming of the day when I would have something equally beautiful to call my own. Mother treasured the vase, and I remember watching ...