Three boulders in a row; a garter snake living in the crevice between two of them, peeking his snout out when I stomped through the garden that served as his front yard. My mother had planted some perennials around the boulders. The grass was vibrant, new-growth green. There was a bumblebee on a flower; I wanted to cuddle it. It did not want to be picked up by a 4 or 5 year old’s grasping fingers.

Different yard; 20-30 feet of trees between the front yard and the road. Climbing mountain laurel trees made my fingers sticky. The plum tree never had fruit because the squirrels ate them before they were ripe, before they were even big enough to ripen. A mile or so of woods behind the house. I used to wander all the way to route 12, exploring and trying to avoid stepping in deer and rabbit poop.

Shore of the river; rocky beach, sorta sandy beach, rocky, then sandy again. Scores of tiny snails. Wading and pulling them out to put them on the rock wall for a bit to watch them ooze around a bit before putting them back in the water. Giving wide berth to the swan nests. Sitting and reading on a fallen tree. Walking the railroad tracks back, then going in the other direction towards the Yale boathouse. Counting steps from the yard to the shore.


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