Something that does not belong there.
Something that turns an ordinary morning into a memory you will carry for the rest of your life.
That was exactly what happened to me.
My name is David Jones, and I have always considered myself a simple man. For more than forty years, I lived on the same piece of land in the hills outside Knoxville, Tennessee. It was a quiet American property at the end of a narrow county road, with woods on one side, a steep embankment on the other, and a weathered mailbox near the entrance with a small American flag attached to it.
I raised my family there.
I watched my children take their first steps across the living room carpet. I taught my son to throw a baseball in the front yard. I celebrated birthdays, Christmas mornings, Thanksgiving dinners, graduations, anniversaries, and all the ordinary little moments that eventually become the most important parts of a life.
