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Remembering

I remember those summers of my childhood
I remember when I would look to my brother as the source of all adventures
I remember our secret hideaway, the pine trees, and our band of followers, the farm
kittens
I remember when our imaginations could create a different world
I remember the days that stretched on endlessly under the heat of the sun
I remember the sunshine was a blanket, and the lawn my bed
I remember the stiff, dry grass that caught in my hair while I lay in beams of sunshine
I remember my father’s russet, coarse arms as he lifted me into his worn, red farm truck
I remember the dewy condensation on my dad’s glass of ice tea as I stole a sip

I remember my mother’s wild hair, beads of perspiration dotting her face, as she called us

in to eat
I remember how the sticky, cool red juice from my Bomb Pop dribbled down my chin
I remember our sandbox, transformed into our garden
I remember the tiny, fragile sprouts of green we nurtured so carefully
I remember the worn out blue swings on our play-set that we spent hours on
I remember how when I pumped my legs hard enough, I felt like I could see to the
edge of the earth
I remember what it felt like to jump… to fly.





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