Feeling a Word

Packers. The word looks green and gold, black and white; it feels young and old. Packers sounds like an AM Radio station in a 1960's brown Chevrolet. I hear the flick of a Zippo lighter, a fooopff of the flame and clink of the silver steel lid, and then the aroma of a freshly lit Winston followed by the first twinges of car sickness.

Packers. Mud, rain, snow. Sunny warm Sundays. The boys. There are those old feelings of my youth where the Packers are black and white on television and the middle years where they're brilliant green and gold and the fun would never end.

I like the word, Packers. All by itself this word, Packers, takes me places.