I'm trying to spend as much time outside as I can this season. I love reading on my back deck and watching the birds in the backyard; laughing at GB as she stares longingly out my bedroom window, doing her cat-chirp when a bird or squirrel catches her bright green eyes.
As I soak up more and more sun, I'm reminded of summer days long-past; photos of my brothers and I, dark tan with scraped elbows and knees, our bikes laid out in the front yard (who needs kickstands?). Playing on our monkey bars at the house in Maryland, the swing-set, jumping from the top of the play fort, we didn't care about our landings. Mom yelling at us, Danny on her hip, telling us to be careful. I think I got a concussion on that playset; knocked myself out and later wandered into the house, nose bleeding, not really knowing what was going on. Think I scared Dad to death.
Fireflies, ladybugs, frogs, earthworms. I've actually caught a few of each so far this summer. Carl thought I was crazy when I showed him a frog I had picked up. They like their chins rubbed.
And now, summer nights with friends, talking about our own adventures and stories "you wouldn't believe." Random dreams only a few would understand; our thoughts on life and books we've read. Boris Pasternak and Vladimir Nabokov, Nintendo and bike helmets and new car radiators; Shiner Bock and bike races, photographs and sudden downpours. Even scraped knees and elbows.
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