Summer in Rural Washington State
I know that those kids had the best summer ever. Everyday I spent outside, I heard them rather than saw them. Clear across the field, a row of 10-foot tall sunflowers block the back yard view. I know there is a trampoline outback. I see the tops of their heads bobbing up and down, up and down. Squealing, laughter, happy kid sounds, water sprays, shady lazy fun filled days. All summer long those kids have quietly, secluded in their environment, yet loudly built a memory. When they are in their fifties, will they remember that summer they played with their sibling’s day in and day out in the back yard. Will they have fond memories of the trampoline, or squirting one another with the hose, of their best friend Fido chasing them around the yard. Will they remember the summer the field in front of their house caught fire on the forth of July from the neighborhood fireworks. Will they remember the dusty gravel road leading up to their home, how they raced one another on their bikes for hours upon hours. Or when the neighborhood bully chased them up the drive, peddling as fast as their little legs could take them back into their safe haven, the back yard.
Will they remember all of this as well as I will?
Will they remember all of this as well as I will?
