Screaming August summer night bugs, take me back to the swamp as a boy. All I need is muddy knees and a dozen mosquito bites and I’d be home again.

There was a world where a boy could be entertained and satisfied listening to the racquet of bush crickets and looking for constellations. Before air-conditioning, and cable TV.

How often, now, in my busyness I forget to step outside and listen to the night and wait for the stars.

A time when the world was so real you could reach out and touch it.