:02:19
A rare month for boys,
:02:24
full of cold winds, long nights,
dark promises.
:02:29
Days get short.
The shadows lengthen.
:02:33
The wind warms in such a way,
:02:37
you want to run forever
through the fields,
:02:39
because up ahead,
:02:42
10,000 pumpkins lie waiting to be cut.
:02:56
('horn honks.)
:03:03
It was the October of my 12th year
when the seller of lightning rods
:03:07
came along the road
toward Green Town, Illinois,
:03:10
sneaking glances over his shoulder.
:03:13
Somewhere not far back
was a terrible storm.
:03:17
Even now,
on those special autumn days,
:03:20
when the air smells like smoke
:03:22
and the twilights
are orange and ash gray,
:03:26
my mind goes back to Green Town,
:03:28
the place where I grew up.
:03:30
In my memory,
I'm back on Main Street again,
:03:33
among the neighbors
who gave me my first glimpses
:03:36
into the fearful needs
of the human heart.
:03:40
The cigar store
was owned by Mr. Tetley,
:03:43
a man obsessed with money.
:03:44
Morning, Mr, Crosetti,
:03:47
Mr. Crosetti, our barber,
cut my hair a thousand times,
:03:50
always talking about faraway ladies
he would never know.
:03:55
I remember Ed the barman,
:03:57
yesterday's football hero,
:03:59
still haunted by 40-yard runs
down the dark fields of his dreams.