Odd magic happens when you put kids together who see each other only once a year. It doesn’t take long for instinct to kick in and they start running like wolves. They roll in the grass, hunt things. Collect seaweed and periwinkles. They yell and shout, and make up dances. Everyone ends up soaked, muddy, scraped, popsicle stained. And no one ever remembers at the end of the day they are from different ends of the country. The sun sets with little arms intertwined.
Once a year our dear old friends come back to the east coast. We gather in Marblehead, eat and drink, and let our kids run. We visit the places where we did a lot of growing up together. We don’t talk a lot about old times, but can't help remember what it was like to not have kids as the ones we have flurry around us. Seems like many lifetimes ago.