The sky hasn’t a cloud. The sun is bright and warm, but a breeze is helping to keep the air cool. The high will be 79° and the low will be 64° tonight. I am listening to the best of Gordon Lightfoot. The dogs are sleeping, each at one end of the couch. I am still lazing in my cozies. This morning is just about perfect.

When I was a kid during the summer, my days were mostly spent outside. I remember picking blueberries but eating more than I saved. My fingers and my tongue got blue. I loved to explore, sometimes walking, sometimes riding. My bike took me far and wide. I pedaled to the towns around my own. One of them had a train station so I used to sit on a bench and wait to see the train. I rode by the golf course and usually found golf balls, errant flyers on the opposite side of the street. I put them in my pockets to take home. In another town, I rode around the lake and wished I lived in one of the beautiful houses across the street from the lake. I’d sometimes stop and sit a while taking in everything around me. I’d watch the birds. Back then I didn’t know the names of the birds. I loved the smallest birds. They were the swiftest flyers. I’d ride from near the zoo around Spot Pond to where the pool was then I’d head up the big hill, usually walking my bike, but at the top I’d ride downhill with my feet off the pedals. I remember the feelings of speed and freedom as I rode down that hill. At the bottom, I’d pedal toward the square then head home.

If I were walking, I’d explore my town. I remember checking out the train cars on the track in front of the old town station. Across the street from the station was the end of the tracks where trains were once turned around to head back from where they came. If I were rich, with a nickel or a dime, I’d stop at the red store and sometimes buy candy. Other times I’d buy Hostess cupcakes, the one with three cupcakes, a deal I thought. I’d take my favorite route by the horse barn. I’d go by the rag and paper man’s house. I was always amazed at the towering stacks of paper and magazines everywhere. His porch was so full it sagged under the weight. I’d head home, tired from my travels.

Even now, if I go to my town, I take familiar routes. I go pass the train station no longer fronted by tracks and no longer a train station. The red store is long gone. The horse barn holds tractors and such owned by the town. The rag man’s house is gone. I always wonder if it collapsed. Probably not. As I drive, I remember what used to be where. I drive by the duplex, my home for over ten years. It looks the same except for the bushes. They are tall into the sky. I slow down as I pass the house. I give my memories time to jump out of the drawers. They always make me smile.

This entry was posted on August 18, 2022 at 11:11 am and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.