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The Fields of Childhood
Continuing the theme of childhood memories 2
I know that so much love has crossed my skies, past those days when my feet trod the vastness of childhood fields, taking in the soft scented air, feeling the cool grass under my feet, and running faster than the bubbling streams toward an unending ocean.
I don’t know exactly when I left those fields of childhood or when the pleasure of skipping down muddy lanes became a grind on tarmac roads.
Perceptions change.
Looking back, childhood was, in fact, a small meadow, and when I left, I felt people were always travelling in the opposite direction.
I often return to the island where I was raised. It’s hard to explain why; perhaps it’s the scent of a long-ago stability.
In those long early evenings of youth, I sought travel, career success, and anything that would challenge me while I sought difficult and dangerous things to do.
Today, I prefer to look back on what is calm and familiar, remembering when evenings were long and warm, and the cattle came slow, scratching their backs against barnyard doors and swishing their tails at flies.
But the train of life pulls away from that station too quickly, and without thinking, one jumps on board, not knowing…
