I remember being eight. Running around my Ontario meadows and creek banks. Topless and shoeless, toes squishing through the black muck. We’d catch minnows and leeches and frogs in that lazy, muddy creek.
I remember the way the wind blew my dirty, curly hair. I remember the heat of the sun on my neck. I dreaded the purple haze of dusk when it had to end for another day.
Older now, I still love the wind and the sun. I love the way the August humidity hits me like a wall as I walk out from the air-conditioned haven of the office. In that first hot breathe, for a moment I’m taken back to that creek in the summer – barefoot, curly haired and sunburned.
2 Comments
Aaron – I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I first saw the photo. Thanks!
It’s a classic! Interesting how the Atkinson boys are sucking in the gut, while the Moor boys are stickin’ them out. 🙂