I don�t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood. We were dressed in crisp cotton nightgowns, matching yellow gingham or white with red and pink flowers. Our great grandmother made these for us yearly, until either she became too old or we became to �mature.� I know the sweet simple cotton nightgowns were replaced by long t-shirts with kittens or cartoon characters printed on the fronts and backs
I don�t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood. We were taken out of the pool and cleaned and dried and put in our cotton nightgowns. Armed with mayonnaise jars or jelly jars. They had holes poked into the top with a screw driver. We smelled of the soap and shampoo we had used to clean of the dirt of a long summer day. We pulled grass up from the roots and layered the bottoms of the jars. The grass was cool in our hands.
I don�t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood. We sat on the back porch swing watching a rabbit hop up the path, hoping that maybe this one would not be frightened of us. Whoever spotted the first blink rising from the ground was lucky. We would start the hunt out back, under the old cedar trees that smelled of age and safe woods where nothing bad lived. Then around the little pool that smelled so good of rubber and chlorine, my favorite part of the summer. Then we would walk under the old elm next to the house that has been gone for over ten years now, and the bird feeder beneath it where the ground was rough because of the discarded birdseeds. Then we would start down our hill, against the old smoke house, where the cats lived. The tigerlillies watched us with closing faces.
I don�t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood. We would get closer to the pond and stream. The songs of the frogs and crickets grew louder as the night became darker. That music was always there but now we stopped to listen to it. Smiling to the night to no one and to our home that was always watching and with us. Under the giant old pine that still stands, the grass was sharp with pine needles under our bare feet. And a few yards north was the very soft grass on which we liked to rest and pretend to sleep, smoothing it with our small outstretched hands.
I don�t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood. We would cross back up to the house, down the stone path that lead to the grape arbor, stopping to breathe in the smell of the Mexican roses in the little metal pot with the lion face on the side. Under the grape arbor is where we found several, cupping them lightly as they glowed and glimmered in our hands. We gently placed them in the jars. The grapes from this arbor were not edible, but fun to play with. The smell under the arbor was so sweet, almost sickening, sometimes a glass of red wine will take me to a summer night... Beyond that was the shadow of the looming barn which has since crumbled to a pile of nothing. We avoided that shadow, tiptoeing across the road where some gravel could hurt. The tar was still warm.
I don�t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood. We would go as far as the bell tree, which was no longer a bell, the shape altered by a lightening strike some twenty years past, but the family called it the bell tree, so we did too. The grass would start to feel damp. We could see the neighbor�s house far away. It was always a shock to remember that there were other people in our fairyland. I don�t remember talking, but maybe we sang. The soft sweet songs from our movies and stories. We headed back, passing the rope swing we had played on all day. Deep breathes of clear air, clean air. A wind often blew up from the west. We would watch it sway the giant old pine and anticipate it reaching us. When it did, it gave us a shiver. Summer would end. I think I always knew. I don� t know why but my mind has been drifting back to the summer evenings of my childhood.