Nostalgic Things

by Lilah Thomas

The sound of an old clock ticking as one wakes from a mid-day nap, the soft yellow glow of sunlight seeping through thin fabric curtains.

Blowing the dried seeds from a dadelione and watching them float away in a gust of wind.

Giggling so hard one’s cheeks hurt.

Walking down a flight of stairs and waiting for both feet to hit each step before moving onto the next. Similarly, scooting down a flight of stairs on one’s bottom.

Running through a house in socks and slipping on the slick wood floors.

Sweaty, clammy, hands. Especially when held in someone else’s.

The sound of spring peepers nestled in the swampy marsh off the side of the road. The sound of cutting and old car’s engine to hear them sing.

Imitating the sound of the morning doves through an open bedroom window.

The feeling of someone kissing the top of one’s head.

The taste of a cold metal spoon cradling a large glob of peanut butter.

The tug of one’s mother braiding one’s hair, commonly accompanied by the quiet chatter of the television.

Dew, puddled in the palms of nasturtium leaves and the grassy taste as the water slides onto ones awaiting tongue.

A bath as it slowly turns lukewarm. The smell of soap, as it lathers onto one’s skin with an old washcloth.

The song “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” being played on an old piano. One’s grandmother humming along as one dances on the floral pattern of her carpet.

The smell of a library book and the crinkle of the plastic cover each time the pages are turned.

The loud popping sound of opening a new jar of homemade jam.

The chatter of a radio station. Especially when served as background noise, as one tries to sleep with one’s head pressed against the vibrating backseat window.

The feeling of swallowing a large mouthful of pond water and sputtering at the taste. The burning in one’s nose after countless jumps from the dock. The feeling of slimy lily pads as they rub against one’s leg.

Giving one’s outgrown clothes to someone else.

The splatter of a rain puddle as a bike rushes through it.

The iridescence of dawn. A rooster crowing across the yard as one snuggles into their mothers sheets, awakened by some childlike excitement.

Skipping.

Holding a small insect and the feeling of it crawling across one’s hand. The beauty of a ladybug, the curiosity in watching a spider’s many eyes.

The ghost of waves keeping one awake after a long day at the beach.

Biting into a sun-warmed cherry tomato and the yellow seeds spurting onto one’s face.

Fred Rogers voice.

The static sound of a video recorded on an old camera.

The colors orange, pink, and red.

The sound of one’s mother’s knitting needles and the nursery rhyme, “In through the front door, once around the back, out through the window, and off jumps Jack!”

Counting down the days till Christmas. Lighting candles and humming carols, writing a letter to Saint Nicholas and struggling to sleep as a bright excitement scurries beneath one’s pillow.

The taste of watered down apple juice.

The plasticy fabric of a dance costume and the way it itches one’s skin.

Watching a small green inchworm creeping along an old wood deck, stopping and admiring the intricacy of each of its legs.

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