Moonlight Starlight, hope to see the witch tonight. Moonlight, starlight, hope to see the witch tonight.
How fondly I remember the hot summer evenings laden with the settling aromas of golden, full-bodied, yeasty wheat chaff, the rich green and so sweet corn with vibrant splashes of silky tinsel, the musky, burgundy clover fields. Every crevice of our little hot sweaty bodies was permeated with the very pervasive and insistent dust from the rich but parched and tired earth.
As we ran around the yard seeking the usually well-concealed witch, we were careful to avoid the hazards of a newly planted bush (who put that there), or the hiding sprinkler that actually caused quite the scar, still visible today.
I was blessed to have siblings and neighbors to share the squeals and delights of hot summer evenings with.
We are all ingrained with the memories of our youth and beyond. At what ages are the memories most indelible? What are the circumstances that cause stronger reactions to our memories? What can we forget and un-see?