This place used to be my timeless, wonder abode. I would tramp behind the house to dive into my imagination, teaming with fairies and knights. And Aslan, that faceless friend who would give his hand for me to step on. Among the white clover flowers my little, bare feet tenderly, trod. Whispering, I renewed my adventures. That place was my playground.
It wasn’t the front yard that the sunlight attacked with its heat and cooked the patio stones. Not where my brother’s rackets rose and rumbled. Not where cars and neighbors could see my meanderings. Not where time passed.
This place was where the sun was held back, and only the softest beams were allowed to shine. Where time was held still. Where silence reigned. I knew that place well.
Now it’s a forgotten room. A place I no longer pace. When cities took my green glade away, I learned to walk in wonder among people. My feet on concrete taught me the way of remembering dreams and growing new ones. Yet I no longer wore crowns.
The country restored the key to me. A new room with old feelings echo the yearnings of my littler heart. Its grass is different and trees don’t hold its rim. But I see the river of the flowing dream world. It’s in every backyard. Time to dive back in.