evening sunset

As in most homes, sunlight comes in our house differently in the spring and summer  - back windows that in winter months don't get to frame a sunset now see slanting shadows and beams of light at the end of day. For me, since I live in the house where I grew up, seeing that evokes memories of when I was little, when the evening light after dinner was shining through those very windows.  As a young girl, it could only mean one thing. Summer was soon upon us, the end of school was near, and I had hours still to play outside.  Sweet.

I've heard it said that smells can be strong memory-joggers and I'm finding that light and its patterns can be  too.  There's a certain amount of comfort in seeing the setting sun come through the windows tonight in the exact same way it did in this house 40 years ago.  It's proof that earth is still in orbit and we haven't moved off course even a speck.   But aside from that blessed surety, in an instant the shafts of light and shadows can take me back.   Circa 1969. Warm spring air.  Even warmer in the house as we had no air conditioning.  My dad sitting on the far end of the sofa watching the evening news after dinner, while my mom did the dishes in the kitchen.  I found comfort in the predictability of our days, our routines, our family's life. 

And now my husband and I have raised three children here, with different daily lives than when I was growing up,  but attempting to maintain predictability and routine nonetheless.  Perhaps someday if one of our children lives in this house, they'll stop and see things that bring back their childhood.  Who knows?  Maybe they'll notice the slanting light of a summer sunset coming in the back windows, and remember how it used to be.  I hope for them that it conjures up the fondest of memories.