Tuesday, September 14, 2010

The Last Afternoon

It was one of August's ephemeral hours, the kind that should be bottled away in something less permeable than memory. Trapped under glass like ferns or fireflies. On the last afternoon the humidity lifted and Alexander and I walked to the lake by way of the old brick elementary. We left out the back, the screen door clapping against the frame as it closed. It was the time of day when tired sunlight falls into the trees and ink blue shadows make the woods seem deeper than they really are. There was a certain freedom in leaving the house that afternoon; something to do with the warmth of the air and a neighborhood familiar yet unexplored. Our dad spent his whole childhood here, and walking down those streets we felt the bittersweet timelessness of place.
(See Part I here.)