Outside the wind is blowing about 18 mph, and the chill is noticeable. Inside is 73 degrees, and the sound of the wind is all I hear in the quiet. Taking a cue from cathy_edgett
I'm traveling back in time.
I remember life as a teenager growing up in California. It was a quantum leap from my life in Maine.
In Maine I would spend my days chasing trout along a brook, or exploring the forest looking for berries. In winter would would wait for the ice to grow thick enough to go skating in our local marshy area, as it would flood and freeze every winter.
In California it was a story of mobility. First there were bikes, the workhorse I used on my paper route then the sleek Schwinn Continental 10 speed. I then turned 16, and cars became the thing. The '57 Chevy, followed by a Volkswagen, a Renault, and a multitude of other Volkswagens (a 1957, a 1959, a 1965, a 1968). Gasoline was cheap, 'gas wars' were common. Nineteen cents a gallon.
Such a contrast, the country bumpkin from Maine goes to the big city. From a town of 100 souls to a city of 10,000 strangers. From a 4 room school to a large school district with thousands of students.
And so life goes... as I contemplate returning to my past. Can it be found? Is it lost forever? I will try to recapture that sense of wonderment that nature provided. I will spark that sense of community lost so often in society. Summer will be for exploring, winter will be for reading and writing and I will celebrate the small things, the summer solstice, new years eve at the easternmost point in these United States, the spring flowers, the frost patterns on the window glass, each snowflake, every berry on my cereal.