Every year, when I was zero to eight years old, I watched the Kalona Days parade from my front yard on B Avenue.
Last weekend, when we were in Iowa, I did it again. With my kids scrambling for the candy. Cue tingles. Oh Full Circle, how happy you make me.
Home.
learning to ride bike
building tents out of blankets on the porch
popcorn on the porch on Sunday afternoons
leaf raking on that lawn
spankings on the stairs inside that back door
cicadas singing me to sleep
sitting in front of the window air conditioner on hot days
my desk inside that side window
easter egg hunts
taming our cat in the garage
the for sale sign in the front lawn
the sold sign above it
Home is family and a feeling.
Home is also a house.
I miss it. And I miss my childhood. Its all mixed up together in one messy bundle of longing and memories and peace and sadness and simplicity and love and family and smells and time.
The creek that runs alongside the house.
I immediately stepped up on the first level of cement and spit over the edge. Without even thinking. Some things time does not change.
And some things, time does change.
Blessed be.