To know a place

In high school, I had a thought that I really liked: When you really know a place, you know the puddles.

I mean the literal puddles, the pools of water that form when it rains. When you get to know a place - a backyard, a neighborhood, a park, a school - you can picture where the puddles will be the next time it rains, even if you’re thousands of miles away.

Sure, if you’re there, you can predict puddle placement pretty perfectly (how’s that for alliteration?) on a dry day by looking at the dips and discoloration on the ground - but when you’ve spent time in a place for a long time, in rain and sunshine, night and day, over and over…you’re not just predicting.

You know where those puddles will be and what they’ll look like, without ever consciously trying to learn.

You’ve spent enough time there to absorb the minutest details.

And I’m willing to bet, whether you loved or hated the place, that by the time you know the puddles, that place has been an important part of your story.

Where’s a place where you know the puddles?