This is the place that links my life. My parents, myself, my children – all inhabited this place through infancy, child adventures, teen discoveries, maturing adulthood. This sparkling lake ringed by pines and birch and spruce and ash and beech is drenched in ancestral and personal history.
I see my parents at the helm of a motorboat, wind baring their faces, radiant with the freedom of wind and water and speed, head lifted in laughter or song.
Earlier versions of me run caped in a blanket, clamber over rooftops, race toads in a sand pile, vomit a first booze overload, conceive a child, sing over Mom and Dad’s graveyard memorial under the trees.
Past lives inhabit every molecule of air, dragonflies, red squirrels, the sparkle of sun on wave. Longing takes my breath away. Lingering presence returns breath deep into my soul.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 303: 141 words, TOTAL = 49,886; 10,114 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families.