The wet fall day
hangs on the ornamental grasses
hugging the sidewalk
in the upscale neighborhood.
Squishing along in Fred Meyer rain boots,
the sodden fragrance
permeates my personal fog
and propels me back in time.
It’s a warm summer day in Illinois.
I run with other kids, laughing
and squealing through the barn,
straw clinging to my hair.
Horses nicker as we chase
each other over and
around grassy bales
and oat buckets.
While Gorge winds pelt me with stinging rain,
I smile, remembering
childhood freedom, humid afternoons
and barns filled with straw and delight.
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