Of dirt and other things

The smell of dirt reminds me of thunderstorms and summer rain, of mud pies and peals of laughter, of matchbox cars and games of jacks, of time spent under the canopy of trees near Newfound Lake, sharp and pungent and filled with moss and decaying leaves, of clear well water and sap-encrusted pine trees

Cool breezes and marshmallow roasts, of faces warmed by open fires and sparklers dancing in the warm night air, of sitting at the picnic table making perfume and laughing as only young girls can, of rolling down the hills at the sugar bowl, leaves entwined in long blond hair, of whiskey and sloe gin and boys that taught us how to kiss, of missing those who have gone away

The bandstand at the pond, of names carved into wooden seats connected by rough formed hearts, and the earnest promises to never part, of all the friends I have known, and all the boys I kissed

The smell of dirt reminds me of home

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