Banks in the shallows

There’s something about this place — timeless, elusive. Every time I leave, I forget that it’s here, and when I come back, I forget about everywhere else. I don’t think it lives in the same space-time as the rest of the world… the boat should have rotted and sunk long ago. The tree is green, even in the fall and winter.

This time, I decided to make a sketch, so that I wouldn’t forget. Maybe it will vanish from my pocket as I’m driving away. Maybe I’ll find it tomorrow and think I imagined it. No matter. As long as I keep wandering back here, I’ll be able to keep rediscovering these stone-skipping memories, and discovering the part of myself that lives here. Now, and (I assume) forever.