Feeling nostalgic
I want to chase through the streets of my childhood, my feet skittering over long-traveled sidewalks, past familiar monuments to great battles, our heroics. The tree (shrub really) I climbed to escape the mad scientist. The leaf pile and the king over the mountain. The jungle and its hidden dangers, the alleys flanked by brambles and blackberry. Remember the alder I climbed so high, where I sat kicking my heels into the air, lofty queen swatting ants? Remember the dead end, rife with insects and tall grasses, low beneath a freeway roar? I want to visit these corners of my memory, remind them that they still shine brightly in my mind. I have not forgotten you, cracks in the sidewalk that I once feared. Fret not, deep grates that hid sly sins and forbidden treasures; your dark recesses still resonate in me. The houses of the witch, the experimenter, the mysterious recluse, the drug dealers: they still stand although their occupants have gone away. And so still stand all these shells of time and place, waiting for my memory to visit.
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