View From The Front Porch-Stan Hitchcock-November 7, 2012

And down by our creek, in the Sycamore with the hollow den, the gray squirrels were packing their belongings, sadly leaving their ancestral home where their generations of blood kin had lived, safe and free by the flowing water with close access to the walnut trees that grow in abundance. The black crows, led by their young male with the loudest CAW of the whole tribe, had finally worn the squirrels nerves down with their incessant racket as they fluttered and CAWED in mass on the old home tree, finally winning the victory over the poor creatures. Grandpa Fuzzy Tail had done his best, using his skills as a walnut thrower and seemed to have the black bandits on the run for awhile until the black crows had called up reserves from across the big river miles away and then descended, in mass on the old Sycamore tree.

As the little family of gray fur balls moved on down the creek, seeking life as they had known it, Papa Squirrel, waiting for Mama Squirrel on a big limb of a sweet gum tree, said to Grandpa Fuzzy Tail, "Grandpa, what's happened to our land, we were so happy here, life was so good before that young black crow and all his followers showed up?"
Grandpa Fuzzy Tail just shook his head, "Son, I seen it all come and go many times in my life, in the end, all you got left is your love of the country, your family and your faith, be strong, son, learn to rebuild".....

The water of the creek flows on, chuckling as it passes over the limestone rocks of the Middle Tennessee countryside. The more things change, the more they stay the same. This creek has been flowing since time began, and will keep flowing til Jesus comes.   -Stan