Nostalgia: My Mind's Short Interjection

It’s days like these that take me back to a time before the long hours spanning weeks, responsibility coming in droves. The fresh spring-like air, filled with humidity only present when rain falls the night before, brings me back to times of walking the local trails, mom or grandmother in tow as we paced ourselves along the muddy paths.

The ground mushing below my feet as I walked and the sight of pavement pulled another memory from the recesses of my mind, back to that insightful child, so underappreciative of the naivety and freedom that was so truly abundant at one point or another. I can remember my search for puddles on the fast-drying sidewalk in the neighborhood I lived in. Chasing back and forth with the girl I still call my sister to this day on bikes as we splashed the pavement with each wheel connecting to the remains of a once vibrant torrent of water from the sky.

It was freedom. It was fun. An air of childlike enthusiasm and nostalgia beat at the cage I let it rot in, and I couldn’t help but let it breathe once more.