Childhood happened like a blur, some instances standing out more than others. There is one place which definitely stands out from my childhood; it is in the woods, barely a mile away from my house – the place where I used to spend entire days with my friends.
I lived on the border of my town, all I needed to get to the woods was to cross the narrow road, jump off the black old fence which was too short to hold anything in – or out and walk, feet shuffling through detritus along the curved path which was like a snake making its way to its reward. I could hear the rustling of the animals rooting in underbrush and the breaking branches as I jumped from one another, It wasn’t the first time I tripped over the vines and roots, the path was filled with logs, berry bushes and covered in wet dark green patches of leaves and ivy. The towering tall trees and trunks covered in moss kept the sunlight out, creating an everlasting shade apart from the tiny shafts of light which randomly broke in and made the bushes and leaves glisten. I can still feel the tingle of hanging moss, the branches slapping and the wind against my face as I ran with childish innocent vigor. Every time I inhaled the scent of flowers, soil and minty smell of bees dazed me, even standing in the same position breathing was a delight. In winter the ground would be covered in snow, with snow on patches melting slowly and drops of ice falling when I brushed against larger bushes of blueberry roses. Me and my friends raced a hundred times and over along that path, either to hurry home or to hide during a game of hide and seek.
But what was truly mesmerizing was the place the path led to – after some distance it opened to a wide meadow filled with flowers the colors of purple, yellow and white scattered across the grass. The trees made a perfect circle around the area, their leaves made the light of the sun stutter in thick shafts against the ground. There were wild mushrooms and a couple of toadstools, their red glistening against the sun. In the very center there was a large oak tree, the only one which stood large in the clearing, we used to sit under its leaves and let its sweet musky scent fill our lungs. For every movement we made the leaves clattered and the flowers danced like a wave in the ocean, all following the breeze of the wind as their guide. We spent entire days reading, playing or just lying down in the patches of grass until nightfall. In the night, the light of the moon casted sheets of silver against the bushes, plants, flowers and against the leaves, which when wet reflected the light like mirrors.
We always came home with small twigs stuck in our shoes and our clothes green and sticky.
During that time not a day went by without most of us rushing there, but as time went by one or the other would miss out, and as we grew less and less of us visited until the occasional day or two happened when none of us visited. The days drew to months and now the meadow became a gathering place for special occasions.
Special occasions where we gather and tell all the stories that during the years molded into memories.
