I remeber the splendor of youth.
All was ripe as red on the apple.
It was new.
All of it.
Everything.
Everyday.
Grapes on the vine were there for the taking.
I took them all, because I could and no one saw.
Paths to me were a mystery.
I chose all recklessly.
None were too windy nor wrong.
All lead me somewhere new, and I liked that.
A bed of clover was soft, unlike my pillow, but just as comforting.
Catching sunbeams through the leaves was a game of skill.
Each having their own name and assignment on the ground.
I would wonder, if a beam hit just right on that bare spot, would grass grow there?
I would swing with butterflies perched on my shoulders.
I gave them a much needed breeze on those hot August afternoons.
When they flew away...I missed them.
All was hurry up and do.
That is until nightfall.
The world changed as did I.
Dark enveloped the Earth.
The flannel blanket tied between two trees.
My make-shift tent.
Honeysuckle fillled the evening air.
Giving mind to Mother's perfume.The sound of locust...whippoorwills...LOCUST!
My quest for the morning, but I will ponder on that in the tomorrow.
Tonight I catch lightning bugs in a jar.
Light for my tent.
On safari as the quarter moon peeks through the limbs, with lightning bug jar in hand,
I pull the little red wagon across the Serengeti.
Looking for anything thing that moves, to capture and make the evening's trophy.
My dog Shelia became Sheena, the lioness.
My faithful guide and tracker.
Together we could concur anything, fearless in our deeds.
One more sentery through the jungle before bed.
Exhausted from the hunt, we lay together paw in hand and discuss the night's rewards.
All is cool, brezzy quiet as the sun peaks beneath the blanket.
We spread it on the ground, ever so neatly.
Our table for the watermelon breakfast.
Watermelon just for me, Sheila and the soldiers we found on the trees.
And...we line them up in battle.
Looking at the ripened rhubarb.
Just another day...
Back on Durrett Lane.