Another Time and Place

It is with typical old-world courtesy
to oblige a request that our old friend
recalls for our edification what his
remote and isolated childhood village
was like, and it is we who feel nostalgic
for a time, a place and an odd contentment
of belonging that we had ourselves never
experienced. No road led up the mountain
to his village, but there was a train station.
No cars drove the narrow streets of the
Swiss village, and people walked to their
daily destinations. No police were there
stationed but for the tourist skiing season
when the village population of 1,200
souls more than doubled. Families lived
together in the harmony of shared values 
and the unique experience of village life. 
Until the passion of travel, the irresistible 
urge of broadening horizons struck the 
young, and, he shrugged nonchalantly
he was one of those. And while he has 
changed immeasurably over the years
he tells us wryly, the village has not.