Our Summers on the Shore
Secure in my bed, I listen to the rhythm of the rain on the roof. The wind shakes the trees as the storm moves out over the lake.
I snuggle deeper in the covers, safe and warm. Music from days gone by softly fill the air as my Sister sings along to the old Victrola. My Father’s laughter mingles with the scent of pine as I drift off to sleep.
I have never felt so secure, so loved, as that night long ago in my knotty pine womb.
By Jane Johnson