One memory from childhood has been swirling in my head the last few days. I'm about four; it's an Indian Summer's day, late afternoon. There's a little weak yellow light in the western sky, but all around are roiling blue-black clouds. I can smell the moisture on the air, feel the crackle in the atmosphere on my skin, as the storm rides the rising wind.
Every color intense; every sensation utterly vivid.
And I was happy.
I want to hang onto it a little longer.
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