The long, dark nights of winter are upon us. It brings me a sadness.
Summer's end has come. No more picnics in the park, swimming in the lake or playing outside after dinner until the street lights come on.

This is what I think about as I sit alone in the quiet house after dinner and look out onto the dark, lonely street. The neighborhood families are cleaning up afer eating their family meal together. Children will do their homework, take their bath and enjoy family time watching their favorite television program before they crawl into their cozy, warm bed, earlier than
they did just a month ago. Their parents will tell them they need a good night's sleep so they will awake early to be on time to catch the school bus. They will be tired from a hard day at school working and learning, so without much fuss, and maybe a story or two, they'll fall asleep soon after their
parents tuck them in and kiss them good-night.

Memories of my summers as a child play before me as I long for the lazy,
warm days and nights of my childhood. In my mind, I now hear the noises of children playing outside my door. My friends wait for me to finish dinner, help my mom clean up as fast as I can and then run out the door as she yells
after me, "Be home when the street lights come on." Without a reply, I run
to join them. We ride our bikes and race to be the first to the top of the hill or we tighten our skates and skate on the sidewalks up and down the
neighborhood. Someone yells, "Let's jump rope in the driveway."

"No," I reply. "Let's catch grasshoppers."

Without waiting, I run into the house to find an old mayonaise jar.
Then, I remember I left it in the garage on the workbench. I hurry to the
garage and hope my brother hasn't taken it. I find it exactly where I left it.
Sitting next to my dad's flashlight and hammer. I grab the jar with on hand
and the flashlight with the other and run out the garage door.

"I've got the jar," I yell as loud as I can for everyone to hear.

Only one of my friends comes running. But that's okay. More might be
too many. I don't want to scare the grasshopers away. Anyway, this gives me a chance to catch more.

As we kneel down onto the grass, my best friend, Carrie, asks, "Do you
want to pick blackberries tomorrow? My mom wants to make jam."

"Sure," I say. "Let's go early and then we can catch crawdads in the
stream after lunch."

Suddenly, the dark spot on the grass seems brighter. I look up and see
the street lights are on.

"Oh, I gotta go."

I pick up my mayonaise jar, which only holds one grasshopper, wave
goodbye to Carrie, and say, "See ya tomorrow."

Suddenly, the sound of the garage door opening brings me back to the
present.

"Jack is home early from his meeting," I hear myself say aloud.

I stop looking out into the dark night and head down the stairs.

As I greet him at the door, I ask, "Do children today know how much fun it was for us to play outside in our neighborhood until the street lights came on?"

Puzzled, he looks at me and says, "Times have changed but those were the
days. The days of our youth. Memories to cherish forever."

"Yes," I say. "Memories, Good memories."