Our Playground

Our Playground

Brisk wind tossed my tangled hair
as I raced down the autumn-painted hill
on my cardboard sled, adrenalin pumping
through my body as the slope propelled
me closer to the end of my carnival ride.

I froze, eyes open wide, as it hit a cluster
of round rocks rising from the earth
and soared, momentarily airborne,
then landed on a blanket of loose dirt,
barely avoiding the huge trunk of an oak tree.

Continuing down the familiar playground,
I listened for the laughter of the creek
that snakes its way through the bottom land
at the foot of the four surrounding hills.
The water beckoned me, as it always did.

Longing to wade through the ankle-deep ,
I reluctantly poked my toe into the water.

Feeling the chill of the water,
I was alive and happy!
I hopped from stone to stone,
then began digging my bare toes
in the squishy mud
at the floor of the creek.
I can still feel the cool, soft mud
on my feet today.

I spied the huge rock
that stood proudly in the bottoms.
Boulders would become my fort
and the creek, my moat. I gathered up
sticks and stones as weapons,
and was amazed to find so many
in the wide open field
at the bottom of that hill.

With great ardor I kept watch
for the enemy. My loyal followers brought
word to me that it was lunch time.
My rumbling stomach agreed.
We climbed the hill that led home
to gather strength for the battle.
The memory of that day is
foever etched in my mind.


Pat Nelson
October 8, 2009

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