Nostalgically

Slapping footfalls echo and are quickly muted on the empty streets.  I've never been the most graceful of runners, if anything the complete opposite, tripping over uneven sidewalks in the dark and slamming my head into metal barricades when not paying attention.  I have an excuse though.

In fall, houses are lit up with ghoulishly carved pumpkins, sometimes a full dozen, lying in wait and flickering menacingly on a brick stoop.  Some homes arrange motion-activated witch cackling and one particular house, by the elementary school, strings a two story orange and white spider web in the front yard, ensnaring the neighborhood evening walkers.  During the winter holiday season, on one very special night, two entire streets are closed to thru-traffic and luminarias twinkle along the sidewalk.  Steaming Styrofoam cups with hot cider are served, even though sometimes the holiday revelers are taking in the lights in shorts and a t-shirt.  Stretching from one side of the street to the other, rainbow Christmas lights intertwine in the tree branches above.  One house even hires a DJ, put on display with a laser show on the second story balcony, bumping and pumping the street into the wee hours of the morning.

This was my neighborhood for almost seven years.  This weekend, I was struck by a sense of nostalgia for the old streets I used to haunt and the house featured this week is located on one of them.