MoonMoonLeftShark
Rising Star
I'm not sure if this is the correct place to put this, but I felt like sharing this story this the nexus.
When I was growing up in the 70s, there was a group of trees down the street that my brother and I used to like to play in. We brought our toy trucks and sat in the depression in the middle of a circle of these wise old souls. There were old blue glass bottles and small flasks that somebody had placed around the roots and soil in the circle giving it a mystic, special feeling.
I remember that the soil was rich and dark as we ran our trucks around, up and down the trunk and roots of the great trees. I spent many days admiring the trees there; the way their leaves split into little leaflets and felt so tickle-y on my face. The seed pods, with their black shining jewels attached by a little thread to the dried exterior.
I remember the way the bark smelled when I picked up a piece and split it in half. The red dusty threads pulled apart as I held it to my face and inhaled deeply. It was as if the tree was calling to me, filling my mind with visions and ideas I was far too young to grasp, yet swirled in the back of my mind. I can still see its deep color in my memory, after all these years.
We always had a great time playing there. It was a very creative and imaginative place for us. I have many fond memories of adventures that only children could invent while these trees acted as the backdrop and setting for our travels. It was a special place and time for me.
It was a little funny to learn as an adult what these trees really were and the reason they seemed to have such an ancient feeling of wisdom and truth. They were truly our friends and guardians while we were growing up. My brother might have been too young to remember them. I should ask him some day.
When I was growing up in the 70s, there was a group of trees down the street that my brother and I used to like to play in. We brought our toy trucks and sat in the depression in the middle of a circle of these wise old souls. There were old blue glass bottles and small flasks that somebody had placed around the roots and soil in the circle giving it a mystic, special feeling.
I remember that the soil was rich and dark as we ran our trucks around, up and down the trunk and roots of the great trees. I spent many days admiring the trees there; the way their leaves split into little leaflets and felt so tickle-y on my face. The seed pods, with their black shining jewels attached by a little thread to the dried exterior.
I remember the way the bark smelled when I picked up a piece and split it in half. The red dusty threads pulled apart as I held it to my face and inhaled deeply. It was as if the tree was calling to me, filling my mind with visions and ideas I was far too young to grasp, yet swirled in the back of my mind. I can still see its deep color in my memory, after all these years.
We always had a great time playing there. It was a very creative and imaginative place for us. I have many fond memories of adventures that only children could invent while these trees acted as the backdrop and setting for our travels. It was a special place and time for me.
It was a little funny to learn as an adult what these trees really were and the reason they seemed to have such an ancient feeling of wisdom and truth. They were truly our friends and guardians while we were growing up. My brother might have been too young to remember them. I should ask him some day.
)