The hike was not long, but the sharp drop from the pine
forest into the valley glen and the slimy, still, forest pond evoked mystery,
adventure, and timelessness. Peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches wrapped in wax paper had oozed in the 80-degree
heat. It was cooler there. The dark green shadows of the pine and
hemlock trees, interrupted occasionally by a speckle of sunshine, stirred a
slight breeze. Robbie and I had yet to
grow apart. It would be a year or more
before pre-teen innocence suddenly faded away.
 |
| Lunch in the piney woods |
Broken glass, milk mixed with blood, primitive (but
successful) first aid. We will not go
home!
Play on . . . . . .
Much later, in the distance we faintly hear the Holsteins
being called in for milking time. “Come
boss . . . . , come boss . . . “ We
should go . . . . . . . the adults will be looking for us . . . . . .
Love this. I think this style is perfect for this blog.
ReplyDeleteQuite evocative. Minimalism in the narrative adds to the dream or memory quality of the post.
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