Missing Lions

The field behind our house is just a backyard now. The majesty of an October pumpkin patch is gone, the honeysuckle doesn’t find its way into our mouths anymore, and the strawberry patch is a forgotten mound of dirt. If you squint real hard, you can see a faint imprint where the swing set once stood. If you search for a while, dig deep into the remains of your imagination, you might find a paw print of a mighty lion, a mermaid lurking in the deep end-but I doubt it. Too much has happened; we have grown too old.

You’re lucky if you haven’t lost the lions and the mermaids-for us they have retreated somewhere else. But, we will always argue that they are ┬áthere, concealed behind the trees that grew so tall we thought they would one day reach outer space. They just have to be there.

I forget where the switch is that Mom turned the fireflies on with at night, it must be rusted over-forgotten like the old tractor in the shed. The worst of all, the grass has changed. No longer cool or soft, it stings us now, it breaks our skin.

Missing Lions