A yard can be where the heart lies. As I approach my front porch, a swing sways slowly, creaking back and forth in the wind that softly brushes against me legs. When I sit, the busy world around me shuts out while the past is reborn. I look at the once novel wooden swing, I notice layers of varnish clinging on. Each coat of varnish tells a story such as the yard. Looking out at the haunting yard, memories run through me similar to a wildfire. Slowly, I gaze around the yard. There is a young girl who believes her yard is Neverland. On the driveway, this five year old girl tugs a wagon with her doll inside. By the garage I can picture the girl drawing with chalk and blowing bubbles. In the front yard she sprints through the sprinkler with her hands in the air. Near the sprinkler, rain or shine, she lays in the hammock to read. Next to the hammock the girl plants a flowerbed which she tends to in the summer. As the girl flourishes new faces appear. There are people laughing around a bonfire near the aging hammock. The girl watches her nieces run through the sprinkler and blow bubbles like she had once done. Over time the faces change as does the girl’s life in the yard. The chalk has washed away and the bubbles have popped. The hammock has become frail and snaps. The once overflowing garden withers and dies. The girl no longer plays in the yard which was once her Neverland. As the memories slip away I close my eyes in silence. Leaving the yard and the porch I feel a sense of sadness. The yard that was once Neverland has now been forgotten.