By now, a blind man could see that I am hopelessly ensnared by nostalgia. As I browsed old folders searching for the photo of the garden angel, I came across a picture of peaches, also taken in the backyard of our home in the San Fernando Valley. The peach tree, planted by previous owners, bore gushing, sinfully sweet and delicious fruit fit for gods. There is no way any mere photograph could do justice to such a fruit. Still, I decided that, at least, I might romanticize the photo a bit and convey some of my wistfulness by adding a couple of those Shadowhouse textures.
Did you ever taste a fruit so perfectly balanced with sweet and tart that you will never forget it's nectar? So delicious that you cannot resist licking the sticky juice off that finger? Any fruit is better, of course, if eaten immediately after having been plucked from the tree. Aiming for perfection, let us hope this experience was savored on a warm, sunny day with just a hint of breeze and you could tilt your head back slightly, close your eyes, and hear the leaves rustle as you counted your blessings.
Ahhhh, nostalgia. Digging into dusty boxes from the cellar or attic, perusing a tattered photo album, or searching through old folders on a hard disc—there isn't that much difference. Mostly, the memories are wrapped in the sweetness of time's healing and today's remembering softens the sharp edges of a time gone by.