It had been almost six years since I had last walked that main drag of my hometown. And as we stood on the sidewalk, patiently awaiting our name to be called at the famed local joint downtown, an unexpected jumble of nostalgia was slowly coursing its way through me. In those six years, a lot had changed-- I had changed. And yet, standing there on that Sunday morning, so much felt just the same as it always had. Just up the street, those beautiful old oak trees still draped over the town square, casting shade and dropping acorns on those passing by. And as the clock struck twelve, the sound of a bell from the nearby church began to toll in a familiar pattern that I didn't realize I remembered until I heard myself humming along.
As we spent the afternoon meandering through old neighborhoods and past old haunts, soaking up every bit of that beautiful Fall day, the memories of a childhood past grew stronger with each step. It was a walk down memory lane in its truest and most honest form. And while the cracks in the sidewalk were a bit longer than I last remembered and the trees a bit older and worn, those same strong reminders of a childhood well nurtured still remained-- the view of the city skyline from my favorite perch above town, the unique weave and twist of the road from one neighborhood to the next, and the taste of those monstrously large "single" scoops from Van Dyk's that will forever carry the blue ribbon in my heart.
I was home. And it had never felt so good.
