Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sometimes I catch myself on "checking out" mentally.
I am suddenly in the middle of the forest of my childhood. I can smell the pine trees and blueberries, and hear the birds. I distinctly hear the whisper of the wind in pine and fur branches. The sky is blue and endless and it seems this moment will last forever.
Sometimes I am wading through the shallow end of the lake. I can almost feel how cold the water is.
Sometimes it is summer afternoon, 3 pm and my grandmother just made something to eat. I am about to enter the house.
I "wake up" at work in the middle of awful heat, in the climate that I really dislike. When you immigrate you disrupt a certain continuity, an ability to visit childhood.
I need a vacation at home.