----I wrote this around this time, last year. I could have written it today.----
What is it about Summertime, that makes me long for the past.
I find myself drawn to water. Not just to the pool for a swim, but I mean big water. To stand at the oceans’ edge and feel the Atlantic rush up to my knees and drag my feet down into the soft sand as the waves rolled back in its gathering-up motion.
Drawn to walk with my brothers to go night fishing off the bridges. Bridges dotted with poor folks who spoke with sharp, crackly southern accents, and sat on their coolers, chilling a six pack or two. Fish guts and old shrimp always sticking to your shoes. Folks always willing to show you their catch or offer ideas on the best bait.
I feel drawn to go out with my father on his boat. To feel the thrill of a new adventure as we pulled away from the boat slip. To sit on the bow and scan the shallows while we navigated during low tide. To swim with the manatee, to catch a sea snake or puffer fish or who knows what. To see sharks circle the boat. To be so far out you can’t see land or anybody else, but the dolphins who came to play or the Frigate birds gliding so high they would disappear from sight.
I would give anything to see my father strong and at the helm again, so that I could watch him as looked out upon the water. So I could look at his wonderful face and for just a little while longer, wonder at what he was thinking.