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Out and About with Word and Image of Vermont
It produces an eerie feeling to return, after many years, to the scenes of your childhood. They take on an almost legendary hue when they're viewed through adult eyes. Yet, at the time, they were so ordinary as to be beyond notice. When I was twelve years old, I played almost every afternoon in the fields beside the Hillsborough River in Tampa, Florida. I went there last week and walked along the streets that composed my small world. They are not dramatically different from what they were. The neighborhood may have declined slightly in status. I don't think the houses are as well kept as when we lived there. But they're still fairly similar. Yet, now, the area has for me a lush, tropical look that makes it seem almost like something out of an historical novel. And, I suppose, in one sense, that's what it is.