The concrete was hot on my feet that late summer evening. My toes curled in response to the slight discomfort. A symphony of crickets and locusts permeated the warm evening air like an orchestra welcoming the night. I stood there listening to their song, nostalgia washing over me again. Memories of messy brunette hair, bare feet, climbing trees, and hunting rollie pollies, dusted themselves off and re-visited me. Standing there I realized the air was different now, my once wild imagination had slowed and I missed the bursts of ideas that often sparked a succession of poorly engineered parachutes and forts. The simple moments of my childhood, now an intangible artifact only I could see. A hint of sadness wiggled its way to my heart as I headed for the screen door to flee from it. The end of my back heel just made it passed the threshold as I heard the door click behind me. I can’t be certain, but I can almost swear that out of the corner of my eye I could see that messy haired child, with eyes full of wonder standing there, looking in, just outside my screen door.