I remember the backyard of our house by the Intercoastal Waterway, the way the marsh smelled in the late afternoon, salty and a little sweet. My brother and I spent hours there, running around with our dog, who always sprinted in wide circles, barking at nothing in particular. I’d sit on the old swing that hung from the tall tree, feeling the wind as I kicked my legs higher and higher. From the top of the swing’s arc, I could see the water sparkling in the distance, the sun sinking lower, casting everything in a golden light. The marsh grass swayed in the breeze, and I felt a sense of calm, like the world paused for a moment.
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