I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the color of the sunset, or the angle of the sun. Perhaps it was the cooling of the air. But it made me think of being a kid on the river with my grandparents. I remember looking towards the field of corn as the sun was going down. The field would be bathed in the orange and pink of a setting sun, and the shadows would deepen. The fog would start to accumulate in the low places as the cool night air caressed the river damp earth, sending tendrils creeping through the fields. I could almost smell the river. Wet, fishy, earthy smells.

My little kid body that had played hard in the sun all day, would shiver in a delicious way as the air cooled. Grandma would call us to come in and we would wash away some of the grime from our little bodies on the screened-in porch. As we finished, we would sit in the metal chairs on that porch and listen to the bull frogs and tiny tree frogs begin their nightly symphony. It wouldn’t be long until sleep would overtake us and we would climb in bed to dream our child-like dreams only to get up early the next morning, and do it all again.

Those days are long gone, but it only takes the angle of the sun……or the smell of the earth….or the gathering of fog…to take me right back there….

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