Today I’m packing my bags and heading back to my home town of Worcester Massachusetts for a week. I left there in 1989 with my husband and children, and although I’ve returned for the occasional visit; I miss it. This is where my history began and the people who I shared that history with still lives. My mind is bulging with all sorts of thoughts and expectations.
I’m working on my second novel and I’m hoping to do some research of sorts…go on a crawl through the old neighborhood and perhaps catch a glimpse of my younger self along the way. I’ll visit the places where my first this or that happened. I have this feeling that there is something waiting for me there, something spiritual, or perhaps an answer to a mystery…a revealing of sorts. I don’t know, but I’ll keep myself open.
It’s funny how going back to your home town has the power to transport you back to your childhood. Even though my mother and grandmother have long since transitioned to the other side I can still sense their presence there. It’s like an old movie reel flickering against that wrinkled sheet on the wall, stirring a pot of memories, releasing the aroma of all those yesterdays and carrying you away with them.
I’m thrilled to be returning in the autumn when the trees blush with radiance, setting fire to the landscape, and the air is crispy clean. This will certainly conjure some of my favorite memories of Halloween in the city. Back in the day when we toted a pillowcase and people handed out life-sized candy bars. We pillaged our three-decker community until our sacks were full and our legs were achy from climbing all those stairs.
So, I’ll probably be a bit busy for this next week, but I’ll be checking in with you. I’m leaving you with a poem, although I am definitely not a poet, but I’m doing this in honor of my friend Roy, author of Roy’s Garage Sale, who is sponsoring a Poe-a-tree-hop
and it just so happens that this month’s theme is “Home is where…” If you would like to participate jump in and be sure to leave your link at Roy’s site on his linky tool so that we can all enjoy your contribution.
Witches on brooms, haunting the sky
While spiky black cats stand in fright mode
Jack-o-lanterns aglow, there is mischief about
As the beggars push out for their pay loads
Sweaty masks hide, the fear in their eyes
As they tread through the darkness with giggles
Apparitions delight, in the juvenile fright
While their mothers hold onto their fingers
Bags weighed down, with chocolate and yums
Their reward for an evening of pleading
They have braved the dark night, swallowed their fright
And will never forget trick or treating