into the dark summer night. What do you hear? What do you smell? I can remember so many instances of this in my life. A glimpse just returned from my memory, something at my grandmother’s farm when we were visiting and the electric lights were on inside, people were talking and I looked out for some reason. Another instance stands out more clearly, baking a cake in my mother’s kitchen as a teen in an apron, with the radio on and going to the back door for a breath of fresh air. Why does that image hold so much import for my memory? The dark, the screen door, the warm summer night… impart a sense of the uknown and adventure.
Melora Johnson's Muse 