Yesterday, I posted about how my cousins and I played baseball in the summers. We played in my grandparents backyard in a small hollow of London, Kentucky. My best memories of childhood are from Kentucky. I lived in Kentucky on and off between Ohio and various other states as a child. When we were not living there we still would drive to visit my family that did live there.
I can remember running and playing in the woods surrounding my grandparents house. My cousins and I built houses out of sticks and leaves. We would play all day until hunger or our parents calls would pull us out of our make believe world back into reality.
We hated to leave the smell and security of the woods behind. As soon as we could we would escape from reality and run as fast as we could back into the trees of the woods hiding in the world we had created.
In our world we were knights fighting each other with long sticks. We were a tribe of Indians fighting the soldiers. We were archeologist digging for lost treasures from a civilization long past. We were whatever our imagination conjured up.
We were so alive and so happy. We were together.
Now, we all have our own children and rarely see each other. I miss those days spent drinking in the lazy sun and watching her rays of light playing and dancing, like us, in the trees of those woods. I have special memories in those hills of Kentucky.
Everlasting memories that come back to me when I close my eyes and dream. In my dreams, I can smell the moist leaves and ground and see the sunlight reaching down to caress my face. I am standing in a wood filled with laughter and the sound of running feet. I am with my cousins and we are together in our woods.