This weekend will be spent in Sunndalen, in the mountains, in the valley, under the waterfalls. Which isn't really home at all, I've never lived there. But where childhood summers are spent, you own a key to the door, if only a mind key.
I'm hoping for snowcapped peaks, icy waters, a freckled nose, earfuls of Summerchild wisdom, new ideas, or faith in old ones. And an exact reminder of what my Grandmother's old clock sounds like.
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