December 16, 2002
I wish for hot days beneath a scorching summer sun. I’d find a rocky beach up north and walk for miles, stopping now and then to splash in the cool water. I’d pile rocks beneath a corner of my towel. I’d soak up sun until my bone marrow melts, and my skin turns copper brown. I’d sit alone and watch the sun go down. Later I’d make my shirt a sling with the arms for handles, and carry my rock treasures back to the car. Back home I’d rinse them in the colander, and admire the many varieties I’d found.