The crunch of ice from a hand powered ice cream churn, the smell of juicy, fresh peaches waiting to be added to the mix.
The tang of the sea in my Grandfather’s clothes, and the wreath of apple pipe tobacco smoke that hung around his neck.
The hum of an oscillating floor fan, singing me to sleep on a hot summer night.
Johnny Cash and Glen Campbell telling tales of Boys Named Sue and Witchita Linemen, providing the soundtrack to a Sunday night Monopoly game.
The look Mom and Dad used to share as they sat on the pier. Electricity that said; “This moment will never change.”
Nana Ginny, Grampa Jack, Gramma H – Bob the Father – Susan the Mother. Pam?
My bike. I wonder what ever happened to it?
I’m filling up my house with Love – Love that I was taught. Love that I once lost (or threw away.)