The Old Neighborhood in Autumn

About three weeks ago when the leaves were still on the trees, I found myself driving through the neighborhood where I grew up.

An area of craftsman bungalows and simple frame houses, it had its own little business district, filled with mom-and-pop stores, a dairy, a barbershop, two taverns, a funeral home and appliance shop. A few blocks from the commercial center was the neighborhood school, Somerville School, a hulking brick schoolhouse that was soon exchanged for an ell-shaped, one-story building. The streets were lined with maple trees and quaking aspen, and the ended in semi-rural areas only a few blocks from the school. You could easily walk from city to country in a matter of minutes.

All that is changed now. Everything has changed. Much of the change has been good.

But on the downward slope of life, it is easy and comforting to look back and dream of simpler times. For me this neighborhood is redolent of new notebooks and pencils, of plaid cotton dresses with white colors, of orange drink and butterscotch brownies after school.

Just a bit of comfort as one season slips into another.