Lake Country

Do you ever get hit so strongly by such a powerful childhood memory that you sob with poignant loneliness for a pie made with berries you picked in a hot field with a black horse swatting flies with his long tail, and your grandfather's quietness at the edge of the pines when you both held so still that deer walked up to you and blinked, when you believed that somehow the moon in the dark lake was going to be your life? But it wasn't and it's gone - all of it, the woods, the people, the home, the fields, innocence - and here you are, far away from where you began, a campfire of memories that wash over people who don't notice with smoke and grief