The Old Well at the Lane’s End
I was born in an old lane on the south side of the county town, with an old well at its entrance. On summer evenings, neighbors would bring their bowls and sit around the well, eating, cooling off, and talking. Watermelon chilled in the well water tasted especially sweet. I still remember those ordinary days clearly.
After we moved away, it was the people I missed most. Whenever a family made something special, they would send a bowl next door. Children ran from one end of the lane to the other, looked after by neighbors along the way.