Brave Innocence

Know what I miss?

I miss chasing fireflies that my mother would let me keep in a jar, when I was no bigger than a grasshopper playing in the tall fields of grass. And the crickets  I would hunt for by the shrill of their chirp. And the sound the tree frog makes on a hot summer day.  

I miss the warm summer evenings when our mother's would lather us in bug spray, and we didn't worry about  pesticides that could cause illnesses, nor would we have worried about the bug bites and tick bites and all the creepy crawlers . No, and I was in love with the warm night air and the sweet aroma of clover, the shooting stars, and laughter and song as family would gather round the old stone fireplace singing songs like "Goodnight Irene", and  listening about the tales of my ancestors and visiting with cousins I wouldn't see for another whole year. Sweet childhood memories. 

So innocent and young were we then. How time has aged us, and time has made scapegoats out of us all. 

Our world is supposed to improve, or so we thought. The harder we try to make it safe, the less freedom children have today. And so where have all the those enchanted evenings gone? How comfortable are we letting our children roam the streets in our own neighborhoods, to explore the little patch of woods behind our homes? I remember mine..I revisited them once , years ago, many years older. They were not as big as I remembered them. Perhaps because there now sat newer homes that changed my landscape. The places I could hide and be alone to explore. Not just the little swampy bog I learned to ice skate on, which by the way never really freezes over. But here were enough trees to grab onto while you practiced gliding from one tree to the next, and bravely going places deeper into the wood as to not hear Mother's calling voice.

Here is where I learned about myself. Independence for me has always taken me into the wood. I guess I imagined myself to be a pioneer, that or too many Fess Parker shows on a Sunday night. Oh yes, I once told my Mother I was going to run off into the wood and look for Daniel Boone. So she gathered a stick and tied a foursquare hankie to it with my lunch inside and asked me if I would be home before dark. I did consider staying overnight, and I was 5. I was more afraid my mother would get lost looking for me than the other way round. I knew those woods blindfolded,  well just about. Today they are gone, given rise to condominiums and the copycat homes of some quick rich developer, alongside the greed of city and  glutenous revenues.

And my landscape, the one that I will cherish and return to, although not original is buried deep within who I am. Forever forging, striving for that inner peace. The tranquil adobe of nature from the hard realities of a grown up world. Where the only sting or prickly nettles I need encounter will come from wandering blindly into the wood and following it's path back home.... I'll need to bring a jar.