Wallace Stegner
93 citations

A muddy little stream, a village grown unfamiliar with time and trees. I turn around and retrace my way up Main Street and park and have a Coke in the confectionery store. It is run by a Greek, as it used to be, but whether the same Greek or another I would not know. He does not recognize me, nor I him. Only the smell of his place is familiar, syrupy with old delights, as if the ghost of my first banana split had come close to breathe on me. ✨ Wallace Stegner (2000). Wolf Willow: A History, a Story, and a Memory of the Last Plains Frontier, p.29, Penguin

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