A short stroll to the edge of the yard here at a friend's guest house becomes a walk down memory lane for this NW-raised girl.
I am temporarily taken back to "the woods" by our Bellevue house, banana seats on Schwinn bikes, friend on the back, white knuckles gripping the upright bar, boater shoes pedaling like mad over hills and through dales, sun dappling on cedar boughs as we careen by, shouting and laughing, unzipped windbreakers flapping in the wind. We fly along well-worn paths carved by other kids on Schwinns, skirting large cedar trunks and shadowed by adolescent maples.
It was freedom and a patch of nature near our suburban cul de
sac.
Now 40 years later, I am
transported to a different woods, skirting a different suburb and different
economic bracket. I am comforted by the same sounds, the same smells, and the
verdant memories.