"A Time To Plant, A Time To Uproot What Has Been Planted"
I love Pueblo. I probably always will. It was a wonderful place to grow up. The sounds and scents from those days before and those days now intermingle in fond memory; The locusts humming loudly, thunderously sometimes, high in the waving elms. The happy fast language of Mexican radio announcers streaming from neighborhood houses and cars driving down the road. Ice cream truck's tinkling jangles through the suburbs. The smell of fresh baked Wonder Bread. The odor of slag pouring out onto fresh ground. The scent of copious rain falling on asphalt and high desert dust. The roar of high school football fans in Dutch Clark stadium on a clear fall night. These are the kinder bits of my home town. I have re-planted myself here in the hope that I might take some root. Alas, peace in Pueblo is elusive for me. My little house on the South Side is a haven from work. A few friends and my family gather there frequently. My sis...