Memoirous

The fact that summer is half over is ruining my summer. The mere thought sends a wave of autumnal heaviness over me, a blanket of wet leaves and leaden skies, a premonition of snow. The waves at the beach thicken and slow into slurry ice. The fireflies twinkling will grow fainter and fainter until they go south with the birds. It’s getting closer and closer with every distant clap of thunder and every clear, white sky day, with every Mexican popsicle and thrashing game of beach volleyball. I need to wring the last drop of warm sunshine, wade out to the second sandbar, dazzle into the lacy surf, taste the ripe berries, and let them burn on my tongue. On the Beach , 1929, Chicago. Gregory Orloff, Art Institute of Chicago

New work is up at Mothers Always Write , a flash memoir piece titled Treasures in the Sand about taking my daughter—age 5 or 6—to the beach. What was I thinking! This place was a death trap.  Please share the link: http://mothersalwayswrite.com/treasures-in-the-sand/