Pre-Hallowe’en, A Too-True Tale

It was a dark and stormy night

when I found myself in the village of Boxes, just south of Boulder, Colorado.

I had stopped there, intending to stay only a little while.  It didn’t work out that way.

The village was populated by ghastly, inhuman residents with the power to trap and hold me for days on end.

What I saw at first as I slowly surveyed my surroundings was Boring. No design committee had been at work here.  Every structure had the same dull brown siding. The only variances—size and signage.

From small to large, each boasted a hand-lettered sign on the front, identifying the wares to be found inside.   A tall garment house.  A small store of  cosmetics/personal items.  Even one named Memories.  Office Supplies. Food.  Seasonal clothing. Kitchen appliances. Pantry items.  Everything a person would need.

The seemingly endless array quickly became overwhelming.  Yet I felt myself forced into spending more time there. One day followed another in hours of dark monotony.  I wanted to be done with it.

Finally, the clouds lifted and I saw  before me a sign pointing to a now-open highway.

I didn’t look back as I left.   I had learned the hard-truth bottom line:

It takes a village to move a person in a New Direction.