I grew up in a village with brick streets. They were gorgeous and charming in SO many ways. Riding my bike down Main Street in summer was nothing but picturesque with the brick beneath my bicycle tires and the large, beautiful Maples and Pin Oaks forming a tree tunnel of the street. I was oblivious to this beauty at that time. I took it for granted.
Snow and very cold temperatures are not friend to brick streets and over time the decision was made to put dull, black asphalt over the bricks. It was more cost effective for maintenance. Each year, after some winter weather in our village the asphalt fails, and those bricks appear in random places reminding me of their previous glory. As I thumped across a rather large brick-bared area in my van, I was reminded of the rhythmic sound those bricks make under tires.
Riding my brother's banana seat bicycle with up swept handle bars...the predictable thump, thump sound of the brick...meeting my best friend, Debby, for a soft serve cone...pure summer fun...
I will not take that for granted. That is a gift.
