(Guest blogger, Mary Gaston, shares vignettes from her childhood.)
By Mary Gaston
I swung on the swing set, my feet kissing the baby blue sky. Toes painted a pastel pink, reminding me of cotton candy.
I dipped the stale dough ball into the water, creating a moldable piece of bait. I slid it onto the copper rusty hook and tossed it into the murky water. Within moments, the ball of dough found itself in the mouth of a bass.
Rain fell in sheets onto the driveway, running down the cracks like a stream and flowing into a puddle. No need for rain boots. No need for a jacket. Just the cool summer rain drenching my sun-kissed skin.
The street light glowed amber against the darkening sky, signaling playtime was over. I said goodbye to the day, knowing soon enough a new morning would dawn once again.
My golden locks whipping wildly in the wind. The pedals of my bicycle imprinting onto the soles of my bare feet. Wind rushing passed my face with my arms spread wide. I feel the warm summer air seeping through the gaps between my fingers. I am a bird in flight.