Nostalgic Notions Enhanced Edition

Color Illustrated; video The good old days.


I ran my hand along a picket fence,

Counting heartbeats and running like a child,

Still carefully not stepping on the cracks,

Noting the furrowed ants bustling, thriving,



Wondering at a old chestnut tree that

Had somehow survived the blight, towering and

Ever so gently tilting the walking plane—

Presenting me with more ancient notions:



Of tire swings, swaying, hung from low branches,

Of a lemonade stand secure in the shade.

My youth came flooding back to me, into me,

And so I continued to give it life:



The back door of a bread wagon opened,

Releasing the fresh-baked aroma;

Mother came out with a handful of dimes,

Buying what would’ve taken three hours to bake.