Every summer we move back to the town I grew up in. Back to the one place in the world that feels most like home.
I did all my growing up in the same house. On the same street. Nestled safely among the same hills.
Backyard of dirt. Then grass. Playhouse of plywood and left over shingles. Fire pit for the Girl Scout overnights. Pool for lunch time swimming.
Roller skating under streetlights. Sweet sound of Springfield. Riding bikes, making tents, drinking kool-aid. Ice cream truck treats.
Jumping off the diving board 100 times a day. Snack stand french fries.
Packing up the car three times. Fire over the hill. The smell of smoke in Autumn.
Birthday parties, Christmases, First Communions. Folding chairs and card tables.
Holly Hobby bedspreads and pink canopies. Nancy Drew garage sale finds. Bunk beds and Cabbage Patch Kids. Dress up clothes and Dream Houses.
Sneaking out and then back in. Parties to clean up. 2 AM phone calls quieted by covers.
Bikinis, adventures, red Jeep Wrangler. Skinny dipping Malibu. Friends & Fun.
In love and out. In school and back home.
Movin' on for good.
New house. New marriage. New baby.
Downsizing, empty-nesters. Thank you and farewell.
Drive by and smile. Breeze in the trees takes me back. Every time.