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I have been doing some work on the outskirts of Millsboro DE. It is a special project for a friend whose shed has fallen into disrepair. The shed backs up to a patch of woods which goes on for about a half a mile before it reaches the highway. Last week I stepped into those woods for a moment to take advantage of one of the best things about being a man and I was confronted, instantly by one of the best things about being a boy.
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It was as though these were the very woods I had spent time in near Dover as a kid. Everything about the scene was familiar. The closeness of the air, the threat of mosquitoes and the distant, distorted highway sounds which could be ignored if so desired. The patches of bright fuzzy sunlight and cool shadow were there as well mixing with earthy, leafy smells. The greens and grays and the lonesome sound of a single engine plane all conspired to blur the line between twelve and forty three. For a brief moment I envisioned myself putting one foot in front of the other and then, brushing aside the different shaped leaves, I’d be off in search of a stream or a civil war gravestone!
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