Marshlands...

Gazing across an open marsh not too far from my home near Philadelphia, I find the sights and smells I discover today as a middle aged woman transport me back to my native Michigan as a young child of eight. That day my youngest brother was in tow, as we tried to figure out a way to traverse the mushy, wet ground of our childhood marsh, trying to get ever closer to the elusive open water. Our feet sinking into the muck, our shoes at risk of disappearing for good. We never did reach the open water on that particular day, but one time after that, my brothers, a rubber raft in hand, were able to navigate through the tall reeds and cattails to launch their boat upon the water. I can still see them today in my mind's eye, out there floating along, triumphant over their success. This marsh my eyes rest upon today, with the sound of bird calls, the wind rustling amongst the grass, brings back all of those memories, the connection to marshland made many years ago as a child.  Causing me to understand that connections to where I currently live are made not only in the here and now, but also from a place deep within me.