I sit, toes curled beneath me,

letting the wind whip and woosh over and around every contour and crevice.

Overhead a trio of geese honk their daily song.

It echoes out like some kind of bicycle circus chorus.

Haahhnk. Hawaahnnk. Hawaahnnnkk.

I stick out my tongue to check for salt in the air like I did when I was small on the coast of Carolina.

I know I won’t taste it tucked away in these mountains, but if I close my eyes I’m easily transported.

Toes smushed into the warm sand.

A soft lapping roar cradling me in its effortless lullaby.

Sun slowly baking me like a morning biscuit, from the inside out.

Eyes open. Toes curl. And my wooden chair gently glides back and forth and back again.

Haahnk. Haawahhnk. Hawaaaahhnk.

The river valley sings me her song.

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