A rite of passage followed me back to the city. Visiting Day at summer camp came and went. But I can’t let it go this time.
The day started out as it always does: we do what we’re supposed to do on Visiting Day, all the while holding our breaths until we inevitably find ourselves, reluctant but resigned, face to face with the still shores of my childhood.
We stood there together, with the others, children and parents, families in tact. And we smiled for a picture because the background’s nice. Then, sand burning our feet, it was time to go.
That was almost the end of it. An annual ritual of sadness and light.
Until I decided to stay on for one minute. And that’s when, I swear, I saw something like fog appear, slowly, tired almost, and translucent. The dead air rising.
I know it’s you David
I’m back at my desk now, books a familiar fortress of safety. Still though, I see that shadow. It’s saying something I don’t know how to believe yet. Which is to say I can’t write it down. Not till it takes shape. Right now it only resembles a reckoning.
The summer and sabbatical have sunk in. Thanks for joining me.