"oooooooooooooo"
"oooooooooooooo"
I'm walking along the shoreline listening to a foghorn in the
distance. Boy does this take me back. I grew up on the Great
Lakes and the sound of the foghorn was part of our everyday
lives.
"oooooooooooooo"
The mist was rising off the still water--water too still to ring
the bells on the buoys. Not even gentle lapping at the
shoreline.
"oooooooooooooo"
A frog jumps in the water and three swans are coasting across
the still water--disappearing into the mist. The geese start to
make a racket and threaten to take flight. A kingfisher sits
patiently on a branch.
"oooooooooooooo"
It's nearly sunrise now and the mist is thinning. Yet, I think
about all of those days and nights running on the beach.
Sailing. Canoeing. Swimming. Or the wintertime ice-boating.
Or those dates...
"oooooooooooooo"
The sun appears over a distant hill and washes across the water,
the mist, the trees, the...
"oooooooooooooo"
...the...
"oooooooooooooo"
...cornfields. That foghorn sound was coming from a distant
grain-dryer. I'm still in Iowa hiking around a pond. There
isn't a foghorn within eight hours drive of here.
The illusion is shattered, but the memories were great. I
continued on my way to work, smiling, transported to a time and
place so distant, yet so close to the heart.
AG
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