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Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Muscle Memory

Winston Park

I knew my little cove in Maine as intimately as I knew my own backyard in DC. I knew which rocks disappeared at high tide and which ones were likely to be slick with green when the tide was far out. I knew which ones harbored tidal pools and hid crabs and which ones had crevices where I might find beach glass. Surefooted I leapt from rock to rock at dizzying speed. I never fell, even when blinded by sun or salt or my own hair.

Sometimes I think if I could just get back there I'd be able to run on them still.
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