At First Sight
I first went to England when I was seven years old. My aunt was marrying an Englishman and we were to spend several weeks on the small, damp island that special summer, and from the moment of my arrival, I fell completely in love.
The memories I have of London the summer I was seven are fragments, sites and sounds and smells that have all gotten jumbled up in the shoebox of memory in the intervening years. Black handsom cabs on rainy streets, the majesty of Harrods, the taste of an ice cream cone with a piece of Flake, eaten on the sidewalk out of an ice cream truck in the park.
I hope to find my way back once again this spring to walk down familiar streets and find my way home.