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That Little Patch of Heaven
There was that island of green that stretched out far and wide, but got smaller as we got taller, that was trapped between concrete streams and brick walls that could touch the clouds and that chain fence that marked where we ended and they began. Do you remember?
There was that alcove of shadow, trees rising high and that house with that patio that you could see over the nicely cut wood that kept us away and reached over our heads. Did those people have those yappy dogs? There was that rock that we sat on when tired or stood on and claimed we were kings and queens and you all had to bow down. Do you remember?
Outside my door there was that opening to a land of hide and seek, with that tree that bled and had steps that was the beginning of something unfinished. There was that swing that none of us fit in after awhile but always tried thinking ‘maybe today’ and then when hopes were smashed and we were left on the ground we said “maybe tomorrow.” Do you remember?
There was that square of grass that looked over the parking lot, settled between our island and our playground, where we built our lemonade stand and made a good profit and said hello to the kind neighbors. Do you remember?
Our playground with it’s swings and that tower that was all our own with that sandbox that the wandering cats of all shapes and sizes and colors claimed as their own when we weren’t looking, but we liked to step on the thin wooden sides and see who could make it all the way around how ever many times we could manage and we would laugh when we stumbled and lost balance and touched the sand with our sneakers. Do you remember?
I do.
I remember when the rains would come and we would dance, watching as our island pooled water which we would run in later and your mom would yell at you while my mom would throw me a towel and make me something to eat if I asked. Or when that puddle that looked like a pond would freeze over and we, bundled up in heavy coats and snow pants, would slide around and try to break the ice that wasn’t strong enough to hold.
I remember the hot summer days when we would run around in shorts and t-shirts and laugh and laugh and laugh. And when we couldn’t laugh anymore we’d rest and then do it all over again.
I remember when the tower in our playground became Professor Oak’s lab when we discovered Pokemon and this is where we would get Pikachu or Eevee or any one we dreamed of and run off to become Pokemon Masters just like Ash Ketchum.
I remember dancing around as nighttime fell upon the world (which consisted only of what we knew, we and everyone, the island and the playground, this was our world and there was nothing more to it) and playing hide and seek.
I remember running and skipping and dancing.
I remember when it became not enough, when we needed more, when exploring the crevasses of what we already knew was boring.
This is when we learned how to ride our bikes and we became kids instead of little kids. Things were changing and we were growing, soaring high, and we thought maybe someday we’d be able to touch the sky like the bricks did and we just let it happen.
There was that island of green that stretched out far and wide, but got smaller as we got taller, that was trapped between concrete streams and brick walls that could touch the clouds and that chain fence that marked where we ended and they began. Do you remember?
There was that alcove of shadow, trees rising high and that house with that patio that you could see over the nicely cut wood that kept us away and reached over our heads. Did those people have those yappy dogs? There was that rock that we sat on when tired or stood on and claimed we were kings and queens and you all had to bow down. Do you remember?
Outside my door there was that opening to a land of hide and seek, with that tree that bled and had steps that was the beginning of something unfinished. There was that swing that none of us fit in after awhile but always tried thinking ‘maybe today’ and then when hopes were smashed and we were left on the ground we said “maybe tomorrow.” Do you remember?
There was that square of grass that looked over the parking lot, settled between our island and our playground, where we built our lemonade stand and made a good profit and said hello to the kind neighbors. Do you remember?
Our playground with it’s swings and that tower that was all our own with that sandbox that the wandering cats of all shapes and sizes and colors claimed as their own when we weren’t looking, but we liked to step on the thin wooden sides and see who could make it all the way around how ever many times we could manage and we would laugh when we stumbled and lost balance and touched the sand with our sneakers. Do you remember?
I do.
I remember when the rains would come and we would dance, watching as our island pooled water which we would run in later and your mom would yell at you while my mom would throw me a towel and make me something to eat if I asked. Or when that puddle that looked like a pond would freeze over and we, bundled up in heavy coats and snow pants, would slide around and try to break the ice that wasn’t strong enough to hold.
I remember the hot summer days when we would run around in shorts and t-shirts and laugh and laugh and laugh. And when we couldn’t laugh anymore we’d rest and then do it all over again.
I remember when the tower in our playground became Professor Oak’s lab when we discovered Pokemon and this is where we would get Pikachu or Eevee or any one we dreamed of and run off to become Pokemon Masters just like Ash Ketchum.
I remember dancing around as nighttime fell upon the world (which consisted only of what we knew, we and everyone, the island and the playground, this was our world and there was nothing more to it) and playing hide and seek.
I remember running and skipping and dancing.
I remember when it became not enough, when we needed more, when exploring the crevasses of what we already knew was boring.
This is when we learned how to ride our bikes and we became kids instead of little kids. Things were changing and we were growing, soaring high, and we thought maybe someday we’d be able to touch the sky like the bricks did and we just let it happen.
homo janai!!
