These Streets

I drove through my old neighborhood at night, past the house that I grew up in.

I go through this ritual two or three times a year.

Not everyone driving slowly down the street at night has sinister intentions. 

Some are just looking to recapture their youth.

Some are hoping to see old friends on those streets and corners, as we once were.

Some are attempting to turn back the clock for a few moments.

Driveway basketball games, whiffle ball, snow-ball fights, midnight conversations, listening to music.

Those memories are still vivid and close.

They had to end, far too soon.

Everyone moving on to something else. New lives, new people, new roles.

And most of what you knew is left behind.

Growing and maturing should take a little longer.

There should be a few more years before one assumes adult responsibilities.

I'm not saying, mid-20's or 30's.

But just more time between 12 and 13 ..... 14 and 15, etc ....

Know what I mean? 

Those years should just be stretched out somehow. 

Or time slowed down.

Yeah, I know. Few would agree.

It's a foolish thought.

My mom lived in this house for eight or nine years after I married and moved out.

But I would return often. 

It was still home.

I could walk in anytime, un-announced.

My old basement bedroom was still my room.

I felt like that should have been a condition of the house selling .... that I be allowed to return now and then.

Tonight, I still feel that way. 

Heron, probably taking flight after deeming my presence and camera, as getting too close. They like their privacy. 🐦

From October 2021.