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Scents flitting in the wind, weaved
Through the trees, made their way to me.
Home was my own world, isolated
From the other side of life.
Purest was the air, hitting me
Hard with a crisp rush of clarity.
Long, innocent years fulfilled in such a way
I’ll never let go of. My toes, my soul,
My heart connected to the roots of
Sturdy, ancient trees who protected me.
Makeshift bridges over babbling brooks
And holding hands with the soft, old willow.
Barefoot half the year, flying through
A magic field of gold, defending my own.
Trails overgrown, I tore through hungry thorns
And burrs, stomping with a mighty sword.
Winds and tall grasses whispered their way
Through the day, secrets from their surroundings.
Trees had names, and they guarded my gravel
Driveway against the haunts of a small town.