I remember when the days were full of sunshine, green grass and tree hugs.
When the light smelled of rain; the sun of dust on the flagstones.
When I was little and the trees, cars and buildings were... not.
I remember my sneakers slapping on the hot, smooth concrete, worn down by tire treads and bicycles.
The haze of heat, wafting and hovering just above the ground and along the skyline.
Tasting lemonade, sweet tea, and the dark delicious shiver of AC as you step indoors... from out.
I remember soft, wet earth, the smell of dirt off the garden hose, the wet grass sparkling in the sun.
Round fresh tomatoes, warm from the afternoon, glowing in the evening on their spicy vines.
The sigh and whisper of the cool breeze through the trees, outstretched and reaching against the sky.
I remember being called in for lunch, for supper, and to get ready to go somewhere... respectable.
The skinned knees of summer, spring and fall; concrete changes temperature but never texture.
Popping over to neighbor's houses, to talk and learn and explore their lives too.
I remember the soft, firm hands of my mother; her skin like... satin.
The rough, square handsome hands of my father; dirt from the gardens beneath his nails.
The lazy creak of the porch swing as we sat and shivered from the warm rain in the heavy night.
I remember lightening, thunder and staring wonder-struck at the storm.
The buttery, toasty, sweet smell of baking pies, cookies and cakes.
The salty, rich, fragrance of soups, sauces, roasts and stew.
I remember the cool, crisp raw growing things; picked and eaten happily on the ground...by the vine.
The singing smell of pumpkin bread and melting butter; filling the house with it's spicy, deep warmth.
The fall leaves changing colors and the air itself growing crisp and peppery.
I remember warm, sweet smelling sweat glistening on... skin.
The fresh, clean smell of open water; gleaming like molten glass on the surface.
The fantastic mid-weight of a warm quilt- fresh from the dryer, wrapped around oneself.
I remember voices laughing on the wind, leaves twisting and flipping their underbellies upward.
The squelch of cold, cold mud under bare feet; thick like peanut butter left in the icebox.
The taste of candy; gooey and melted from sitting in a pocket too long.
I remember music floating through the neighborhood, oldies and contemporary, classical and jazz.
The stale smell of wood-polish, varnish and leather in the murmuring carpeted quiet of church.
The scolding for tearing my Sunday tights and muddying my dress; climbing trees... to avoid attending.
I remember singing with my family to my father playing the piano.
My mother perched on the couch arm beside him, her body turned toward the sound.
The still of the night and of the early morning before everything ends... and begins again.
I remember soft lies, kind eyes, lullabies and awkward sighs.
Not knowing what to say to someone new, interesting and different smelling.
Suddenly shy; sneakers make circles in the dust, or across the grass.
I remember all of my senses alive; taking in; wishing I was older and younger at the same time.
I remember the adventures I had with the people, animals, trees and world I knew.
I remember... and I hope I never forget.