Sometimes a memory will come at you from nowhere.
Yesterday I was walking down the street and saw an old weathered baseball on the curb. And there I was all over again. Anywhere from 5 to 15 years old, in Avenue P Park on East 5th in Brooklyn. We loved going there. We lived to go there. My brother, my friends and I. We loved going there as much as we loved going to Coney Island Beach. Baseball was the main game. We set up teams, we competed in little leagues throughout Brooklyn and we felt like we had accomplished something. Life was never so good. The feeling of the bat connecting with a pitched ball was glory and triumph. Nothing less, everything even more. In my memory, those days are always filled with a warm sun the color of dark sunflowers and the evenings were the color of violets at dusk. We would want to stay out until the very last moment our parents allowed us to breathe the outside summer air. There was too much life to be had, too much fun to be missed by something so tedious as rest. The next day, we would start again. New stories of gossip would develop, new teams would be created, new wonders would present themselves at our feet, and always, always we would let them unravel into a dreamed road and followed their path, anxious, excited.
What about you, what are some of your favorite memories, and what sparked them back into existence?