It's 6:45am this stormy tuesday morning. My alarm went off at 6am and I laid in bed listening to the thunder. I could hear the rain pelting the shingles and occasional lightening flashed through the curtains. Just a summer storm passing thru, no need to take cover. I do love a nice summer storm. When I was a kid living out in the sticks I'd sit out in the yard and watch the storms roll in until my mom yelled for me to come in so I wouldn't get my foolishness struck by lightening. My dad got struck once. That's another story though.
Anyway, we had a screened in patio that I practically lived in while I was growing up. One side faced east and I could see cars coming down the road (which was kind of an event because I lived on a slow county road) and the other side faced the woods, where all the magic lived. I could sit there all day listening to the sounds of the woods. Birds singing, squirrels chattering, an occasional mysterious crashing through brush (maybe a deer passing thru? or raccoons? squirrels miscalculating a jump?). Nighttime was the best, after the heat of the day faded into comfortable night air, cool, but warm..does that make sense? The kind of summer night air that caresses your skin and makes you close your eyes and breathe it all in. I'd just sit out there on the sofa, in the dark, by myself and listen to the woods. Locust (cicadas?) were typically the first
to begin their chik chik buzzzz see-saw rhythm. Mom called them "back-to-school locust." After the sun dropped below the horizon the crickets would commence the chirping and the nightbirds would warble...and there are also some crazy little tree frogs that could screech like something you've never heard before. Teen weeny things, big noise. I loved sitting out there. It was my solace and retreat. As a teen I'd sleep out there on the sofa every chance I got. The nights it rained were heaven, ahhh. I loved that patio. I loved that woods. Kinda bittersweet thinking about it now. The house was sold when my parents divorced. I was 24 when that happened. They sold the house and had a big auction. While strangers were perusing our things, our memories in the yard, I snuck off into the woods. I walked down the trail to the ash tree by the creek where all of my childhood pets are buried and cried. Cried for my pets, cried for losing my childhood home, cried for the break-up of my dysfunctional family, cried for the unfairness of it all. Cried because the auctioneer just sold my big old dollhouse for five dollars by mistake. And I mostly blame my dad for all of it.
I drive past the old place every now and then, when I'm out that way, it looks different...sort of overgrown. All the trees we planted are full grown now, the woods looks unattended to. My dad always kept the trails mowed. One of these days I'll pull off to the side of the road and wander into the woods just to see if any magic still lives there.
Anyway, we had a screened in patio that I practically lived in while I was growing up. One side faced east and I could see cars coming down the road (which was kind of an event because I lived on a slow county road) and the other side faced the woods, where all the magic lived. I could sit there all day listening to the sounds of the woods. Birds singing, squirrels chattering, an occasional mysterious crashing through brush (maybe a deer passing thru? or raccoons? squirrels miscalculating a jump?). Nighttime was the best, after the heat of the day faded into comfortable night air, cool, but warm..does that make sense? The kind of summer night air that caresses your skin and makes you close your eyes and breathe it all in. I'd just sit out there on the sofa, in the dark, by myself and listen to the woods. Locust (cicadas?) were typically the first
to begin their chik chik buzzzz see-saw rhythm. Mom called them "back-to-school locust." After the sun dropped below the horizon the crickets would commence the chirping and the nightbirds would warble...and there are also some crazy little tree frogs that could screech like something you've never heard before. Teen weeny things, big noise. I loved sitting out there. It was my solace and retreat. As a teen I'd sleep out there on the sofa every chance I got. The nights it rained were heaven, ahhh. I loved that patio. I loved that woods. Kinda bittersweet thinking about it now. The house was sold when my parents divorced. I was 24 when that happened. They sold the house and had a big auction. While strangers were perusing our things, our memories in the yard, I snuck off into the woods. I walked down the trail to the ash tree by the creek where all of my childhood pets are buried and cried. Cried for my pets, cried for losing my childhood home, cried for the break-up of my dysfunctional family, cried for the unfairness of it all. Cried because the auctioneer just sold my big old dollhouse for five dollars by mistake. And I mostly blame my dad for all of it.
I drive past the old place every now and then, when I'm out that way, it looks different...sort of overgrown. All the trees we planted are full grown now, the woods looks unattended to. My dad always kept the trails mowed. One of these days I'll pull off to the side of the road and wander into the woods just to see if any magic still lives there.
1 comment:
If it helps any, I remember that house and those magic woods very well from about a third-grade perspective... big dollhouse and woodland noises, a thousand plastic horses, Fwee and Darla... it will always exist and be magical to me!
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