Silly little sadness

It was a small town paper that won't leave much of a ripple going down, but it was ours.

I haven't lived in that town for 53 years, but some of my early poetry was published in it, as was my engagement and marriage and those of my siblings.

My late older brother was a reporter and photographer for the Herald, and once, in his dry droll manner, borrowed my horse, donned a Stetson, and rode the four miles into town to deliver his news a la Pony Express. He tied the reins to a parking meter.

It saddens me.