Dan Rodricks posted: " I hear the voices of children, the summer voices of children. They bounce across the lake from the beach, squealing giggles and dog-paddle splashes, the chatter of a childhood fading away with summer, fading away from us all. August is the Sunday night o" Dan Rodricks
I hear the voices of children, the summer voices of children. They bounce across the lake from the beach, squealing giggles and dog-paddle splashes, the chatter of a childhood fading away with summer, fading away from us all. August is the Sunday night of the year, the long slow night of the year before life calls us back to class. So, in the closing minutes, I listen to the children across the lake, and try to remember the chatter of my own, now grown, until the last little laugh, until the last little splash.
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