A hillside where I played, now lies dormant, unused.
Laughter no longer carries in the wind where childish breath was once contrasted to the pitch night sky.
The grass, still worn, but no longer from play for there is a gray hue of neglect that looms across its blades.
This lonely hillock connects me to my past,
the lost adventures of a youngster where berries were alien and stones stood as kid’ish vessels.
Simpler then, necessary, far from times reach.
But now that time binds me to the present, I can only reflect on the before.
As I do, memories swarm my mind and I start to see the patches of green again.
Familiar images beautifully paint my imagination, chasing away the dark shadows,
irrelevance slowly deliquescing away.
My boyish reminiscence forever welcomed, I see more beyond this passed by place and embrace a trigger to the memories it has kept for me this long.
that hillside…where I played.
