calls

When I was a child, salt water splashed through my veins. I strolled and skipped through small patches of forests – we called them woods. This time of year we skated on frozen-over cranberry bogs, safety cracks in the ice some of an after-school soundtrack.

I took the time, back then, to feed robins and grackles and sparrows and blue jays ripped-up white bread – any color bread would do – lovingly placed on the snow. Maybe not the best diet, but for all the right reasons.

There are different calls from the world in this life of mine now. Salt water is still a thing.