Walking through a nearby park at dusk the other night, I saw a single spark. Then another. Soon there were too many to count, hovering in the airspace between my chin and my ankles, lighting my way past the lake, the gazebo, and over the boney cast iron bridge.

Who needs a time machine when you have memory to transport you to another place, another you? Those sparks must have kindled a few synapses, because suddenly I was six-years-old again, running with my best friend Cindi through freshly mown grass enveloping us in the signature scent of a suburban summer while…

Source: Sparks