Out on the Bay today the warm dampness enveloped me like never before.

It was swelty and cloudy and the wind sailed the white puffs across a gray sky. Water in front of me and behind, we were on a peninsula of sorts, with lush green tropical fertility bursting lazinly all around us.

A gust of wind bringing honeysuckle air and a snapshot of my black sandals mixed with the wet and evaporating sunscreen lotion aroma  in just the right proportions, and suddenly I was back.

Back in the Midwest, in the vast expanse of green and brown pulsating and exhaling all around me. I remembered Current River, Hawn State Park, clear streams and the Big Muddy, floating down the Potomac, even, watching the current wash around my arm draped over the black rubber of the innertube and into the transparent water as I glided downstream.

The power of recolleciton was overbearing.

I gave into its pull.

Remembered Cornerstone, with the silty lake and the inpenetratable vegetation on the other side, remembered the sun, remembered bliss. Joy. Laying on the verdent earth and feeling it breath beneth me, I thought big and amorphous thoughts that go without words. They flow over and through you in a single emotion and you don’t know: to laugh? to cry? to sigh and just let it? Everything inside tingles and you want to fly. Grow wings – strong and sturdy, and fly…

Just then, a tinkerbell voice called out, with her strawberry goldilock curls, beaming smile, “Maaaama!”

I flew.

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