Through the Long Closed Window of Before.
Through The Long Closed Windows Of Before.
Hopscotch, chalk dust still colors the winds of time as sing-song, jump rope ditties echo in tiny leaps and twirls where all the pretty girls hopped now blurred softly in my memories ~ My youth played hide and seek but was never found long after the cries of allee...allee..in free became a prisoner of the past. ~
The smells of bubble gum and bologna sandwiches still lingers deep in my nostrils flaring from endless school bus rides
All the giggles and hiccups fake farts, squeals and sighs in breathy sopranos between seats play a melody in my yester-ear. ~`
Bubbles that never broke... blown years ago still hold shimmering dreams of the what ifs that became whatever's ~`
A tattered old teddy bear still looking bewildered at where I've gone lies staring out from some landfill pocket deep beneath yesterday's treasures compiled. ~`
Bike rides still thrill me with the rush of wind the unpedaled free falls and the swoop...swoop.. of the front wheel in wide arcs dancing before me. ~
Playing house was easier when it was only make-believe and mud pies tasted a whole lot better then crow. ~
Snowflakes were edible delights, falling prey to waiting tongues extended, each pink nub hoping for a frosty taste. ~
Raindrops made puddle-licous stages where bare footing Fred and Ginger Juniors danced lightly across rainbow-tinted oil slick waters. ~ Cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers ran rampant in make believe assaults through our peaceful neigborhood ~ We were always told to come in from our playing times when the streetlights went on so the bolder ones of us broke the ones near our houses with rocks and Moms would peek out and find them still off as we romped far beyond childhood deadlines. ~ I have not run into many of the kids I grew up with I don't know where they could have gone but I miss them all so very much from back when.... ~
Memories were much fresher
then these stale recollections and the cobwebbed moments of joy
that now lie squatting in
the cupboard of my mind.
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III