Sunbeams stream through a car lit with a late August morning as we drive veering around a corner on a mission. Cornfields mark the curve and there is a feeling that today we will find something neat. Perhaps some signs will appear along the asphalt beckoning us to pull into a yard sale or two. We’re open. Time is on our side.
It’s a familiar place where just off the highway we’re willing to waste time and money, gamble and stretch our legs. Maybe it’s all been picked through, maybe it’s junk. But there’s a chance it’s gold as we dig, dig, dig. Sundays were made for driving slow and gawking at neighbor’s wares on their lawn. Eavesdrop and pick through the unwanted past.
Spotting a handmade sign etched on with felt marker “Yard Sale ->” is all one needs to get their heart rate up. When you find something great it’s a thrill, when you don’t it’s a journey. One never knows where the cards will fall and the four wheel voyage will take them.
The swirling windblown sign on the gravel shoulder reveals an antique barn on an old farm and it made you look twice so you pull in. You’ve got time to spare and who cares, for the love of George it’s Sunday!
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