Winter Park

The place where I learned how to play basketball

With the boys, as their sweat fanned me on a hot summer day.

Where everything dies outside on the ground.

Where children would scream tag in hope of triumph.

A mixture of old money and new blood.

Where I ran to get away from trouble.

My peace, my piece of apple pie; with ice cream on a hot summer day.

Some would call it the eye of a storm,

But it was my storm.

The place where the building in front of my house changed like the seasons,

that never took place in the floridian monolithic atmosphere.

The place where my dog Mikey would escape on a hot summer day.

The place where I would find God on every corner,

even the skidrow of Orlando that bears the name Parramore.

The place where the smell of hot, greasy chicken crept up

my nostrils as I drove past Publix and smeared a grin across my face.

Because I knew I was safe, in my own safe haven on a hot summer day.

The place God crafted for His servant to do His will.

The place where I will always keep my hands on the wheel.