They’re just trees:
Oaks, hickory nut, crab apple.
Maybe they’re more:
Walls, fences, secret passages
Hiding an imaginary world.
Oaks, hickory nut, crab apple.
Maybe they’re more:
Walls, fences, secret passages
Hiding an imaginary world.
It’s late afternoon and the sun is sitting low in the sky. Who knows how long this heat wave will last (55 degrees). Before I can even make it two feet to my special place on the swing, my eyes become transfixed on the various trees looming in the background. That wall of trees was once the border between reality and make believe.
The strip of trees directly behind my swing that separated our yard from our neighbor’s was referred to as the ride-a-way. That place harbors all of my childhood imaginings. My siblings, the neighbors, and I would spend hours playing in those “woods.” They became anything we could imagine: a house, a fort, a haunted maze.
We spent hours clearing a path that weaved through and around those trees. We used brooms to sweep the dirt off of the older dirt buried beneath – a futile task. We had sword fights and military wars waged amongst those trees. In essence, those trees fostered our childish creativity and adventure.
I can’t remember the last time I ventured into that make believe world or even stopped long enough to miss that feeling of innocent freedom. Why is it that nature seems so much more available as a child than to a grown adult? To be honest, I cannot even remember when the ride-a-way lost its appeal. It looks so lifeless and so different than what I remember from my childhood. What changed – me, the trees, or both?
The strip of trees directly behind my swing that separated our yard from our neighbor’s was referred to as the ride-a-way. That place harbors all of my childhood imaginings. My siblings, the neighbors, and I would spend hours playing in those “woods.” They became anything we could imagine: a house, a fort, a haunted maze.
We spent hours clearing a path that weaved through and around those trees. We used brooms to sweep the dirt off of the older dirt buried beneath – a futile task. We had sword fights and military wars waged amongst those trees. In essence, those trees fostered our childish creativity and adventure.
I can’t remember the last time I ventured into that make believe world or even stopped long enough to miss that feeling of innocent freedom. Why is it that nature seems so much more available as a child than to a grown adult? To be honest, I cannot even remember when the ride-a-way lost its appeal. It looks so lifeless and so different than what I remember from my childhood. What changed – me, the trees, or both?
This is great! I'm jealous that you still get to see where your cheildhood imagination got to run wild. I remember the places where I used to play, but we moved a lot and I haven't seen any of those places for so many years, all I have is memories. Maybe it's easier to remember something that is "gone," whereas you see it every day and were allowed to forget?
ReplyDeleteIt's not so much that I forgot but that I changed. Therefore, so did the woods.
ReplyDelete