i happily left new england for california almost 10 years ago, never once looking back. i returned twice, once for my brother's wedding and once seven years ago for my father's wedding. i haven't been back since. until today.

some people have perfect memories, details are forever embedded in their minds. mine is at the other extreme, the details fade, washed away by time and lack of attention. i can read books over and over, each reading a fresh discovery of a masterful work. the vague plot may still be there, but the details are gone, leaving me to enjoy every word again.

coming back to new england was like opening a much read book. everything was familiar, right, yet so many details were forgotten. the multitude of variations in the shade of the foliage, the appearance of a forest when all the trees are bare, the architecture of the buildings, the sense of openness, houses widely spaced separated by vast expanses of manicured green grass, and the crisp smell of cold in the air.

california is cramped, homogenous, and bland in comparison. it has no uniform architectural style, yet everything is vaguely reminiscent of the strip mall. the plants never change, never experience the seasons. it is a shallow timeless place, with no sense of history or change.

i hadn't realized how much new england had been imprinted in my soul. i've always known that england was. scenes of pastures, rolling hills, thatched cottages, and ancient buildings have always tugged at some part of me. reminding me of my home in a way that my vague childhood memories never could. today, to my astonishment, new england evoked the same response.

i suppose that i should have known that i would react in this way. if 8 years in england could do it to me, shouldn't 12 years in new england? somehow, i always thought it was in my blood, now i realize it's in my soul.

the details may be gone, but my memories serve me far too well.

copyright 1997-2000, by brig.