Leaves & Memory

So, this afternoon, as I walked to the mailbox, the wind blew all the leaves across the driveway out of my path. 

As if there was something waiting for me.

Nothing in the mail.

But a memory.

Of getting up early, climbing onto my bike, & riding the streets of The Meadows.

Not quite the same as sneaking out of our house in El Paso, climbing a rock fence, crossing a desert, & hiking up a hill to watch the sun rise.

But, like those treks, secret & safe & alone.

A time to think.

Sometimes when I contemplate those mornings, I think, why does the trek to thinking need to be secret & safe & alone? 

Of course, my memory of those bike rides & treks across the desert have been too influenced by experience & education.

I rode my bike around the neighborhood for the same reason I snuck out of our house in El Paso to watch the sun rise. 

Because I could.

Because it was safe, & a different time.  

And on more days than not, the milk man  (yes, Virginia, milk used to be delivered in glass containers to the front door)  would give me a frozen treat.  

And I would continue my ride around the neighborhood, guiding my bike with one hand,   sucking up fudgecicle, a creamcicle, a popcicle held in the other.

And feeling so incredibly, so inexplicably free.

Leaves clearing a path brought that feeling back to me.