Dawning Creations

I was full of boundless energy,
that hyper little five year old.

When we grew bored with wandering parking lots
and the feel of concrete under our feet,
we would seek our secret garden.
We’d go all day,
sneaking through the cut hole in the green fence.
The ancient tombstones would befriend us,
becoming as familiar as a grandparent.

We would eat on the green grass and dirt,
a blanket comfortably underneath us,
eating apples, oranges, and Rits crackers with cheese.

Walking from one beginning to another end,
you would answer all my questions, neverending,
about the nature all around us.
The bushes around us were lush and the smell of grass
and fresh earth was always present, along with wild and planted roses
and the open air, a break from the city’s typical iron smell.

My little eyes took it all in,
and in my pink gelly slippers,
I roamed as far as my feet would take.
You were never far behind,
always keeping up and informing me about it all.

You were a real hero,
in plain dress, never letting us stay at home,
always encouraging my curiosity,
letting me explore and keeping me safe.
You stopped the fearless child from stepping
into the thorned rose bush,
but allowed her to explore bare foot,
and experience the cool feel of soil on her feet.

You’d be enthralled like myself,
collecting leaves, chestnuts and pinecones.
A large basket accompanying our journey,
would be filled as we made our way home,

We’d exit our fence,
through our familar hole,
and be back into the city.
It was meek in comparison to our secret garden.

Lifeless.

We waved goodbye to our tombstones
and all the nature and animals.
We would plan about the wreaths we’d build.
While blasting Madonna and Mariah Carey tapes,
or watching the Care Bears for the millionth time,
we would build and create.

We spent every day in this bliss,
never knowing the adventure awaiting us
but always being certain we’d encounter another one
even greater.