Up This Little Street

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When I was young, I would beg my parents to let me stay at my grandparents' farm.  

That's not just a throw away introduction line.  That's not like, "Last night I burnt dinner" or "The sun's finally shining in Warsaw today."  That is background.  Just sayin'.  Because you might have been tempted to just breeze past it.

When I was young, I would beg my parents to let me stay at my grandparents' farm, blah, blah, blah what's Micah really talking about today?

Because, that fact--me, young, running around (preferably barefoot) on my grandparents farm is going to come up.  Repeatedly.  And probably at odd moments.

So, I thought I should mention it.

And then highlight it.

So you won't be surprised when we come back to it again later.

But, back to the point at hand.  Which is, me, small, maybe 2 or 3 having finagled a few more weeks on the farm with Pappy and Granny all to myself.

We were working in the tobacco, by which, of course, I mean my grandparents were working and I was "helping".  This particular morning, I was helping by walking between the rows of tobacco and repeating,

"I go up dis wittle street."

"I go down dat wittle street."

All through the field.  Up dis wittle street and down dat wittle street.

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And that, Friends, is exactly the feeling I got as I wandered these streets of Warsaw.

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Wandering up one street and down the next.

The realization of it made my heart catch in my chest.

I did in fact repeat those very words, as I walked along winding roads.

That little girl, in pigtails, somehow turned into this much bigger girl wandering paths she could not have even imgained.

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Directed only by the map of my own curiosity.

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Just when I feel like I know a place, I take a new turn.

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And it's new all over again.

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And I walk up this little street.

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And down that little street.

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Awed at the wonder of it all.