Once, when I was little
Once, when I was little, I climbed off the swing at Holland State Park and climbed up the hill that I knew led to where my parents were waiting for me. I remember walking down that hill and up the next, over and over again, certain as I reached the peak of each ascent that I would see my parents just over the crest. Each time I made it to the top and I didn’t see them, I simply kept moving to the next until finally, I decided to rest upon a different swing and wait for them to find me. I was there, kicking my feet up into the clouds, my back flat as I tried to reach the sky, when I heard my mother’s voice, breaking as she called my name. I still remember the terror and relief washing across her features as she ran and scooped me off my swing. I don’t remember how long I was lost to them. It didn’t seem long to me, but must have been an eternity to my Mother. As I sat at the table last night, after enjoying a delicious birthday dinner of grilled steak and corn on the cob