I believe in icicles that form along the rooftops and fence posts on a snow driven day in New England coasts that spill out glimpses of red-finned birds in bushes that mark life in the frosted sills of my memory.
And in the music that fills the air from choirs of angels perched on steps of churches and front porches of homes performing Christmas carols for steamy cups of cocoa laden with marshmallow wishes of good tidings to one another.
I believe in peppermint scented lips and chocolate tongues after snow sled races down slopes of hills beside homes opened to visitors for the day of home schooling in the aftermaths of snowflakes racing to win the victory of laughter and peace that breaks the silence of nightfall only to awaken to a wintry delight.
And in saucers spinning down mounds so frothy in the stillness of white, pristine and given as gifts in the pictures of youth with snowmen built of carrot noses and cheeks of apples shining in the wintry air but warmed through scarves given as protection to shield the sun from melting snow and ice that drifts in and out on silent afternoons.
I believe in glimpses of New England coasts from boats taken out for frolics and laughter for a ten-year old, unexpected surprise birthday present from a cousin who prefers teenagers to all others.
And in bathing suits cut for sandy bottoms and prickly feet trodden along shell driven shores, looking for that perfect formation washed-up from summer thunder storms in high tides rising and trickling back in pools of water given to small sea creatures whose tracks are left to my imagination.
I believe in station wagons with fins of silver and leather seats of turquoise and green with sister and brothers lined-up for pictures from a Brownie camera held up by my mother ready to go to the seashore.
And in youth and bell bottoms wider than the waist wearing them in prints usually saved for curtain and drapes but made into a pattern of flower power and in afterthoughts from after proms on dates in sweet sixteen suites and dresses freely spinning round and flouncing about on dance floors shimmering from helixes above lit of light cut from a ball spinning in a circle.
I believe in camps of day on sandy coasts in shades from heat that summer suns reflect upon the ocean fronts meant for wealthy youth who afford the cost but given to those of a different choice as I gain the wealth of charity.
And in two-piece bathing suites brand new and colorful bought for a birthday not of hand-me-downs but never used and chosen for a brand new season of swimming and camp, feeling proud to own one’s own clothes not tossed down to others less fortunate.
But most of all I believe in the miracle of innocence and of youth that we are given as precious moments to remember as wisdom when age sets in to witness the children’s comings and goings down slopes of imagination enraptured in everyday adventures to be recaptured through the seeds and joy of one’s family.
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