Memories can't always be explained. Every fall when the light is low and the temperature has a little chill, I think I remember a few seconds of a day long ago when I was very little. It is something to hold on to because it carries a feeling of well being with a clarity to it that I can't explain. Yet, nothing really happened to make this memory stand out. Here's the memory:
I am standing or sitting facing the open back door of the house. I can hear music playing in the house and I can see and hear wet laundry flapping on the clothesline through the window in the kitchen. I'd swear my mother is humming. I know my father is in the garage. The memory fades as quickly..
No photo captures that moment in time. Maybe it is a dream. It is so short, I wish it would stick around longer. The Plat will always live on and it will always be the neighborhood called home.
Here's a link to the location of my parents house at Google Maps. To see the house, look at Street View