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What do I remember best?

Cheese with bits of mangoes inside. Mmm. Way too delicious.

I’d dreamed of this place for a long time. In middle school I’d spliced three songs from the CD “San Juan Suite” and created a piece called “The Storm.” It had combined more forms of dance than should have fit together well: ballet, highland, Irish, tap. We girlz had performed it one summer under our butternut tree, along with a talent show.

What do I remember best about that show?

Piano music like rainfall. Roasted pecans coated in cinnamon and sugar. A young lady in a lavender dress at our heirloom piano.

Years later, I finally get to see the place whose music lulled me to sleep so many nights. Here is a cabin, small and snug. I’m wrapped in a pink blanket, snacking away as I write. The day is grey, and later my mom and I will go down to the shore and I’ll kneel in my long, green trench coat, my brown hair falling across my face as I reach into the grey water.

On a sunny day we’ll drive around the the main island, from Friday Harbor to Roche. We’ll admire the artwork from the art festival as we wander among the booths. We’ll buy cards to frame when we return home. We’ll eat seafood, wander under arbors, and climb the stairs to the white chapel of “Our Lady of Good Voyage.”

We’ll walk the wooded trail to the heights, to an old, old graveyard. The grass will wave golden while the trees stand slim and stately. And I’ll think of days passed away and wonder how they slipped through my fingers.

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