The sun blared in the bright wistful sky. By now my back is starting to flair up and from the cuffs of my ankles rolled up to the neatly ironed collar up by my neck, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peaceful awakening.
My feet are dipped in the pond I’ve visited since I could ride a tricycle. In fact there used to be a paved path that wound around the speckled leaved of birch trees. Now I imagine that path to be overgrown with sticker bushes, and the thin layer of cement to be cracked by years of harsh 40 below cold.
I sit by this (now to be) busy highway, feet in the pond, sun hot tempered and tempting me to strip. My thoughts nothing less but grim. This was my childhood place. It’s just grown – old – and yet – today I walk away, leaving my childhood there.