Louis, your story reminded me of a place I used to visit as a child. I called it The Grotto. It was at the river’s edge in front of my neighbor’s usually vacant house. The bank to the river shore was steep. If I climbed down, there was a natural hollow spot that went, maybe, 3 or 4 feet into the bank. It wasn’t a tall spot but I could crawl in and look out at the river passing. I always felt that spot was occupied by spirits of one sort or another. It was my hiding place when the world was too much for a child to bear.
When Kennedy was shot, I crawled in The Grotto and cried and cried. When a friend betrayed me, I did the same. Whenever I felt sad or alone, I went to The Grotto.
Thank you for bringing back a special memory that I haven’t thought about in decades.