There are bits of my childhood embedded in the night noises.

The cicada’s chatter like a shaman’s rattle summons visions.

I can see the girl I once was, standing in the belief that I would change the world.

And 50 odd years hence, here I am wondering about the depth of my imprint on the world.

The blades of grass between my toes invoke the cool summer nights of days before. When I lay upon the grass, looked to the heavens.

Believed that destiny would sweep me up. That I would make a mark so lasting that everyone would notice.

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