The thrill; haunting my dreams
Pink is glistening before us
Luminescent dots of yellow,
Flicker in and out of sight.
The meadows are knives and feathers
All at the same time;
Feet blackened as asphalt
And skin rough with dirt and sand.
A giggle here, a whine there
Everyone nagging each other
“Come on!,” “Let’s go!,” “Do we have to?”
Incessant questions from toddlers.
Mosquito bites, scraped knees,
And bruises from who knows where,
Yells and screams for joy,
Countdowns from 100,
Crying over spilled milk.
Pink turns to purple,
Our mothers ring the dinner chimes,
But still we raucous.
Huffing down the rode on our Huffies,
“Look, no hands!”
just as skin meets pavement.
Screams of terror, rocks in uncomfortable crevices,
Tears define the severity
Everyone, running to their mothers for aid
All fearful that one more drop of red will certainly mean death.
But a bandage and kiss, ice pack and some teary laughs
All is as if it never happened.
The sky turns navy blue, celestial beings
Twinkling like the airplanes next to them
Wet with dew, cuddling underneath blankets and leaves
These are the days that define who I was,
Straight out of The Sandlot and just as exciting.
Who can say they can look back at those days
And remember each one just as vividly as the previous,
As though you were still in the dream of that day
Awaiting for life today to be as it was.