When I look at this picture, memories come flooding back to me. Not just memories, but feelings. Warm (well let's face it, hot) sun on my face. The smell of summer, hot and heavy in the air. Looking up at the dappled sunlight through the trees. The contentedness of a child well loved.
Every aspect of the house tells a story. The tree on the left is the one I tried to climb with a book and a baked potato in hand, to have a quiet little lunch on the bottom branch (sadly I wasn't that nimble and during the climb the potato didn't make it.)
The porch swing is where we used to swing so wildly that it would hit against the bricks.
The driveway is where we set up a basketball hoop and played Pig or Horse (I'll play basketball if it doesn't involve running.)
The roof on the right is where we used to sit, even though we weren't supposed to, having climbed onto it from the air conditioning box and a tree that sat right below it.
The top left windowsill is where I used to sit, again with a book, watching my filmy white curtains blow in the breeze into my blue room. It's also where my friend Erin and I set up my boom box (remember those?) to play "God So Loved the World" by Jaci Velasquez out the window in an effort to "evangelize the neighbors."
That house, the huge backyard, and the cul-de-sac was the backdrop for circuses, Christmas plays (in which I was Mary and a computer chair with wheels was the donkey), gardens, newspaper ventures, lemonade stands, weird pets, and all kinds of imaginary adventures.
Now it is just a house for sale, and who knows who has lived in it for the past 10 years. But for me, it is the embodiment of a beautiful childhood. I only hope I can give that gift to my own children someday, regardless of where we live.
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