Lightning bugs winking into the night. The last rays of sunshine on the horizon as a mother calls out for her child to hurry home. Skinned knees, the clean smell of a Bandaid. The cure for every ailment.
The tangy taste or Orange Crush pop. Telephones with curly cords and rotary dials. A shiny red Schwinn bike, and the first time ridden without training wheels. Drawing on a cement sidewalk with a rock. Pulling vivid yellow dandelions, the bouquet clutched in a tiny hand, a present for a mother.
A grandfather's wine cellar, the coolness in the deep dark, and the smell of crushed grapes. Sunday dinner at one o'clock sharp. The clinking of forks on plates, the taste of veal cutlet and homemade noodles. Dishes washed with cousins, laughter, talking, fun,
Easter baskets filled with shiny plastic grass. Solid chocolate bunnies, fingers licked with the remnants of melted goodness. Christmas bulbs, glitter, tinsel, The Grinch. A new vinyl baby doll, her face, sweet. The smell of candle wax in the stillness of a darkened church. Bags of Halloween candy, plastic princess masks, their smiling faces "frozen" for all eternity.
A snowflake falling, falling. Warm, wool mittens on tiny hands, fingers outstretched. A snowman melting on a warm day, his carrot nose falling to the ground. A wooden sled is put away for a long nap to return again.
New comic books, super heroes to become. Imagination.
Nostalgia. The scents, sounds and feeling of times long past. Memories that never quite fade, but only grow more vivid with age sometime. Savor them, but never tarry. For time marches on, and though the new drummer beats a rhythm that we sometimes may not like, we must press ever forward, not living in the past, only stopping by for a short visit as we journey through our life.