Hot sweat on baby fine hair, heat waves against a brilliant green field, dense cool shade on the hottest summer afternoon, tire swings cutting into your legs, ponies breathing hot breath against your face, running from cra-dads that jump for your toes in cold shallow creeks, splashing water all over your sister, playing horse in a field of sweet clover, the sound of cicadas as a little girl kills time on a blazing Missouri summer afternoon.
It's a sobering that these images exist only in my memory now.
Someone said you can never go home. And it's true.
1 comment:
And sometimes those are the best. We remember things the way they were. . . fresh, new, carefree. When we try to go back and recreate the moments, it's just not the same. Time, distance and age put a new perspective on things. But the memories will never change.
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