Walking quietly arm-in-arm, somewhere along the old dirt road that wandered lazily past your grandfather’s house, I remember falling in love with you. And together, lost in the carefree summer afternoons of our childhood, we’d rejoice in wasting these endless days away.
Inexhaustibly enchanted, I remember watching the golden rays of sunlight shimmer on your skin; radiance indescribable, amber light dancing madly against the clear blue sky. Years later, the sound of your voice still surrounds me in this place; filling the spaces perfectly and completely.
Like pages from a great old book—pressed down and perfectly preserved—I remember the carefree days of our youth and I remember you.
Walking quietly along the old dirt road that still wanders past where your grandfather’s house once was, I watch as delicate droplets of water deposited by the morning rain sparkle like diamonds on the tall grass; until, at last, the heavens clear and the sun rises high into the early-August sky and they are gone.
And once again, I am left standing here alone.
Remembering the ghosts of August, northern MN
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