Some experiences are seemingly unremarkable when we live them and prove to be significant only afterwards, glittering like gems hidden under layers of cortical detritus and beckoning us to unearth them through reflection. Other experiences are not latent and are immediately meaningful.
Looking back, I realize this past summer was one of those wondrously unusual and amazingly free times, often becoming preciously rare as age increases, responsibilities accumulate, bills pile up, and life accelerates. It was a space delineated and differentiated from the usual humdrum routine – a magical space of possibility, a blank canvas, a vast field of immaculate fresh-fallen snow just waiting to be sculpted into various forms.
The memories, no longer crisp and vivid, become sweet and fuzzy, glowing like the remaining embers of a crackling campfire by which smores have been roasted and ghost stories traded under a glittering, star-studded sky.