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.