pensivepassenger cards fly by, window after window after window of each car. When I was a child in Arkansas, mosquitos were a perpetual
problem, so trucks with huge barrels of DDT drove through the streets, misting a vaguely pleasing smoke throughout town.
This, too, is a "home" memory for me, although the DDT was
not good for me. Home is also lightning bugs on July nights, and
small bats breezing overhead. I never see bats or lightning bugs in my current suburb,but at least I hear birdsong, and cricket song, and that's also home for me.
