What is breathing this fresh morning in the meadow. 

Press of heat and light, New England summer near my home.

Today, I walk the Charles River meadows and woods, the old State Hospital grounds, abandoned, still standing. 

One late August when I was twelve turning thirteen my home was not here, we moved into a tall old farm house with a widow's walk with a view to Sebasticook on acres and acres of undeveloped land in an old logging town in Maine. 

Not that summer, but a later one, after we'd moved but still owned the house, the house was left standing, I spent a summer there, at sixteen, often alone, my father traveled in and out , and I discovered how to love being, the pleasure of walking, bright sunshine and wildflowers in a meadow I stepped into by crossing from my driveway on Tip Top Road and scrambling through brambles.

The meadow thrums with insects now, and then. If the house with the widow's walk was left standing, if it hadn't been demolished decades ago

I wish, I would go soon and take its picture from every angle of now, how to see with fresh eyes. 

I will go. I will return. Soon and see what has grown in this place.