This is a repeat. But I don't care.
Straight from too-bright backyards in summer 1983, the sound of big fluffy clouds momentarily darkening the grass or the pool. The *scronch* of an inner tube as you shift on it, the trees swaying. How could I have ever known I would caress all those little snippets and bits, but I must have known, somehow, that the song would be the bridge between then and now, rethreading it onto older skies, newer clouds, decades of generations of leaves and branches.