I am visiting my dad for a few days in Ridley Park, a suburb just south of Philadelphia. Tonight, I'm lying in bed, listening to a whole catalogue of sounds I rarely hear in Florida.
In just the last few seconds, I've heard car and truck traffic on Chester Pike, a commuter train passing by the Crum Lynne Station on the Chester-Wilmington Line and a jet taking off from Philadelphia International Airport. Add to that a horn blaring off in the distance, the sound of the Philles-Marlins game from the downstairs TV, and my dad foraging for a late-night snack.
I haven't lived here for 35 years, and yet it sounds like home.