Writing – Mark Overmeyer’s Writing Workshop Session

I remember how the soft summer breeze blew through the yard, rustling the tree’s bright green leaves, tinkling the front porch wind chimes.

I remember the shade that the neighbor’s tree cast upon the four yards that met at the corner of our backyard. Where we dared not tread because of the ground’s swampiness.

I remember shifting the hammock to catch the shade as it made its march across the yard.

I remember my son, clambering onto the hammock while I rested inside, throwing off its balance as he climbed.

I remember him wiggling and adjusting, like a dog circling around his bed, searching for that just right spot, before snuggling in deep.

I remember the distant sounds of airplanes overhead, lawn mowers afar, and the occasional peal of laughter from children in other backyards.

I remember feeling cool, and warm, and embraced by this hammock and this sweet, squirmy child, now sleeping peacefully, as we gently swayed.

In the breeze that blew across the hammock in the shaded summer yard.