You might write again?

The way you wrote it instantly brought tears to my eyes, as i recalled similarly nuanced details from comparable instances of my own childhood.

Summers spent at my grandparents’ in rural Canada.

Helping my grampie pick string beans in the warm summer sun. Even though I’m terrified of bugs/spiders, crouched alongside that calm and quiet man, i was able to gently redirect any that got lost on my arms or legs.

Every summer day, an adventure, that included swimming in their pool and riding the rope swing hanging from their big ol’ beautiful walnut tree. Grammie searching to find me, not yelling for me as i was accustomed to at home, but actually locating me, to tell me that lunch freshly baked bread, reading the latest babysitter’s club book while