It’s hard to believe, but it’s been two years since I visited my favorite old fire engine. He’s right where I last saw him. In the vacant area across from the post office.
Harder to spot him from the road, now because the bushes and brush have grown around him. Enclosing him tightly in overhanging branches, wildflowers and weeds closing around his old tires.
There’s a little memorial nearby in memory of lost firefighters, the Worcester fireman and the 9/11 first responders. And a few locals, too. I don’t know if anyone but me visits any more.
Old Number 2, with all his memories, is slowly being forgotten by everyone. Except, I guess, me.