Scorched GanderSnout I remember my mother taking my older sister and I to a park by the ocean.
We would jump from the car and run over the dunes and down to the scrag of a beach looking for razor clams and conch pouches.
We would find moon-jellies and toss them back and forth, feeling their sandy slime seep into our fingers.
After a while our mother would call us for lunch and we would rinse our hands in the salty water and run over to the shade where she sat with our sandwiches and Capri-Sun juice boxes.
We would sit, my mother with her back to the trunk of the large tree, and eat, my sister and I telling Mom all about the things we had found and she would listen and be even more excited about our discoveries than we were.
When I had finished my sandwich and wiped the peanut butter from my lips with my arm, I would scramble up the tree behind my mother.
She and my sister would talk of other things, but I was a few feet above them, high off the ground I thought, working my way out the long deep grooved bark.
I would continue to climb higher until I found a spot where I could see some light through the curling umbrella of leaves.
Some window trough the canopy.
randomly recent winter oak.

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