there are places i remember

it's funny the little things that take you back.

i am sitting here at work with my window wide open because they are finishing up some painting in here (hello! stinky!) and i had almost forgotten the sounds of daytime Summer. see, while my windows can often be found open in the evenings, we don't really get a lot of opportunity for having them open during the day, unless you want to semi-dissolve with humidity. you wouldn't believe the difference in the sounds you can hear.

at night, there are leaves rustling, a soft sound that the daytime drowns out. birds singing their last lullabies. there are peepers & crickets. it's all very peaceful & hush, even with its noises.

during the day, though, the birds sing cheerfully & chirp as they search for a grub of some sort. lawnmowers whirr in the distance. people call to one another or share laughter. these sounds, so different from their evening counterparts, are as bright as the sunlight itself.

listening to the "soundtrack of a Summer day" (yes, still Spring, but in May, Florida feels like Summer to this New-England-born girl) reminds me of this past Saturday morning, and a blog post i started to compose in my head as i drove down windy back roads on my trek to get my hair cut.

the morning was so reminiscent of the Summers of my childhood. there was a slight damp chill to the air, not enough to be uncomfortable, but that invigorating freshness that comes with a new morning. instead of hermetically sealing myself in my car with the air conditioning, i lowered my windows a bit, letting the breeze ruffle my hair, and soaking in the "Summer-ness" with my senses.

the birds waking up with a twittering. the squirrels scampering & digging & re-hiding their stashes. a man edging his lawn, the smell of freshly cut grass drifting along on the breeze. children shouting to one another as they ran across a yard, one in pursuit of the other. the sights. the sounds. the smells. all uniquely Summer in the place that i grew up.

as i travelled along, my forward motion blurring the details of the homes & trees & fields i passed, i could easily mistake the fuzzy images in my peripheral vision for those i left behind in Connecticut. wandering winding roads through residential areas not confined by gates & walls, squashing neighborhoods into the isolation of designated cookie-cutter communities. roads shaded by stately trees with their leaves dancing ever so slightly, sunlight streaming through in little puddles & patches onto the ground.

until a palm tree would cut across the painting in my mind, incongruous with the reverie i was playing. and even though i've grown to like my transplanted location, something in me ached just a little for those roads from my Long Ago (or so it feels). is it really the roads, though, and the places that i miss? or is it the familiarity of my birthplace... and the days i can't go back to, even if i try?