On the way home today, I saw a rainbow (believe me, it was much more beautiful than this picture shows. God, my photography skills are lacking. Can you even tell there's a rainbow there? There is. I promise. It's in the middle. Look close.). I love rainbows. They always make me feel a little nostalgic. For four glorious years, between ages 3 and 7, I lived next door to my best friend, Eric. Most of my memories from those years include him; like the time we chased a hot air balloon that was landing in the field behind our building, or when I told him I wouldn't be his friend if he didn't tell his Grandmother (a die-hard Mets fan) that he liked the Phillies more (he did and she chased us around the yard, tickling us, until we submitted). Some of my favorite memories with Eric are when we tried to find the pot of gold at the ends of rainbows. We had enough freedom, and our development was large enough, that we had plenty of room to run. Each time we saw a rainbow, we'd run as fast as we could, to try to find the end of the rainbow, where surely, treasures awaited, not to mention Leprechauns. There were even a few times we convinced our parents to drive us on our mission. No matter how far we ran or how long we drove, we never made it to the ends of the rainbows. They always disappeared after enough time, nothing more than light and drops of water. But the sense of adventure, the excitement of what we might find if we ever made it in time, was enough for us. Seeing rainbows, even now, reminds me what it's like to be a kid, to believe in magic, and let imagination take over.
No comments:
Post a Comment