The Senses Of Summer

It was another sultry summer evening in Berea, Ohio. I sat perched in a sturdy maple tree in the backyard where I could survey my kingdom. Everything was mine when I was 10 years old, including the future. Through the fine screen of the porch, I could see my dad’s crossed legs on the lounge chair, his back to me, his head resting as he dozed. Occasional breezes blew through and lifted the sounds of the Cleveland Indians’ play-by-play man …

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