Climbing the wall
Dad would announce a few days ahead of time that we would go to the beach, assuming we kids had finished all of our chores for the week. We kids would work extra hard to stack wood, move paving bricks or whatever it was we were supposed to do to make sure we would get to go.
I would often put on my bathing suit the night before and sleep in it, so I ( Read more... )
It never ceases to amaze me how no matter where we are, we all find this feeling. I made friends with the wind, she was my version of an invisible friend. :) Driving in the car on the Los Angeles expressways I'd stick my hand out the window and ask her to carry me to the colors along the road, we'd bring back thin trails of constantly morphing colors, which I would finger crochet into a long streamer reaching farther and farther behind us. Every version of sky blue, or plant green, or billboard red looped around each other as she brought back more and more tendrils of colors for me to work.
Part of the game was remembering the pattern of the colors for as long as I could. How many feet worth of imaginary colors could I hold in my head before they dissipated in the turbulence of traffic?
As I got older the wind morphed into a lover as well as a friend, and her touch woke new images in me. Still, to this day, whenever a strong breeze hits me just right, I smile as wings explode from my back and I lift up from the ground, just for a moment.
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