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  • There's too much that I want to remember from this summer. It would have been worthwhile for me to have written consistently through the weeks, to remember more intimately the smells, the rushes of excitement and satisfaction, the subjects of our long conversations. All I have for now though, are glimpses of the experiences; brief snatches of memory triggered by an offhand word, or a snaking train of thought, or a sudden visual out the window.

    I'm sitting in the fourth row of a Southwest 727, waiting for the plane to be boarded again en route to Detroit. Out my window, twenty feet away is the body of another Southwest plane, its underbelly cherry red, its form massive and gently curved.

    On the ferry ride to Georges Island on the Saturday before I left, we stood at the helm of the boat, travelling unexpectedly fast. The wind from the speed and the sea was forceful enough to tear our hair in billows all around our faces, nudging us adamantly away from the rail, whipping salt and spray and dankness into all of our clothing. We laughed with abandon, screamed into the wind wild ramblings of how cold we were, how much fun it was, how fast we were going.

    And at one point, a plane shot by above us, its underbelly less than a hundred feet above us, its engines booming and shrill, trailing dark threads of air behind them. We screamed in response to that too, exulting in the rush of motion below and above us, laughing hysterically, cursing that we were too slow for a picture, celebrating the thrill of the day already.

    These are the sort of clips that I want to hold onto for a long while. Our wide smiles, happy for simple, visceral reasons. But their fleeting nature will mean that they will disappear too quickly, fading not like the slow light-exposed aging of photographs, but like chalk etched on a sidewalk, washed away with the next rain. But I want to hold onto them for longer than they will probably allow. I think there's some kind of poetry in these shared, short moments that I'm afraid I have not savoured enough.


    (In this picture, we are just embarking on our trip to the harbor islands, unaware of how quickly our little ferry would soon be going, and how great of a time we would soon be having. The start of this summer was similarly unindicative of what a great couple of months it would be. It was a good reminder to keep my heart and mind open to the small wonders that unexpectedly shape my memories.)
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