Waterland

water 8I grew up in an apartment complex not far west of Chicago under a landing path that routed planes in and out of O’Hare airport.  I was eased daily by the ebb of sound, by the whistle and roar of heavy jets and the mill-thrush churn of propellors from smaller planes.  At the apartment complex we had a pool where I’d watch the planes land, able to tell their breed by their underbelly as they glided overhead.  Sometimes I would float on my back with my ears just below the water surface and listen to the plane noise and the muffle of the water took away nearly every other nearby sound and being left with just the engines made me feel like they were my own, as if we were the only things sharing the world’s space.  The pool was an “L” shape with a deep part and a shallow part and it continue reading…

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