I took the long way home from Peters tonight. Past the winding driveways of names I once knew. Filip, Johnson. Names which once were uttered daily in my speech, now relics of a forgotten tongue. Today I saw siblings and congregation members – babies now bold children, children now adolescents, and my peers and seniors,gone, gone. I drove slowly home, past the sleeping, dead cornfields, the empty frost covered barnyards, and the quiet, hidden lanes. As I turned down the bright headlights I wondered, will all these names almost forgotten, those faces now firmly sculpted from the soft putty of childhood be gone as quickly and ineluctably as the night’s fog with the morning’s light?