The Little Girl at 1207

You took a trip home to 1207, to where you lived before.  To where you lived before the ups and downs of life unearthed you.  You see the home where you laughed and played and cried and lived as a little girl.  Where you were always surrounded by many yet more often than not felt all alone.  You see the window you peered through.  You remember the giant closet you hid away in for hours at a time, safely enclosed within the four walls and the dark.  You see the tree that was struck in the storm.  You see the field where streams would form if it rained hard enough.  And remember watching stick boats float away, out of sight.  You remember the giant stump in the back and the stone wall and the kittens.  So many kittens, and the walks and the Sno-cones, and the horses and the long bus rides on bumpy roads.  The pool is still there, where you learned how to swim, and the fence where the raspberries grew and the place where the garden was.  You drive past the corner where you sold cantaloupe with your brother.  And there is the sledding hill.  And you wonder which neighbors are still around, after all these years…?  You feel the November air and marvel at how the sunshine feels the same way it felt back then and the air feels like the same air.  

 And for so long, the memories of this place in your mind had you convinced that you were just a scared and lost and lonely little girl struggling to be noticed and find her way.  But then you go back now, knowing what you know, having started the uncovering of the covered up part of your heart.  And you realize that that little girl at 1207 was You all along.