Where do daydreams
go when they retire?
Do they nap upon my feet
waiting until I stumble over them
disguised as a russian spy,
a princess bride,
a heroine of yesterday?
Ageless and timeless
the dreams do not wither
but as of yet remain
chubby-cheeked and cheerful.
It is amazing how our memories are so vivid when triggered by the sight of a forgotten treasure from our past. A long time has passed since I thought of my old bin of blocks. The sight of them jolts my mind; I am overwhelmed. As I pick up the toys strewn across my nephew’s bedroom, I find myself looking back……
For so long my life sang quietly, steadfast and sure
Seasons came and went, suns rose and set
Monday became Sunday and memories all blur
Only delight of the mind proceeded untoward
Now it seems my mind is still
Too full of things to learn yet more
And when I look outside myself I find
The world has changed and changed some more
Where are those blessed childhood days
Spent walking over sunny hills?
I loved it then and I love them still
But I no longer know where to find
The quiet path winding though the fields
I’m sitting outside in our driveway on an old beach chair while my four-year-old brother plays in his turtle sandbox. The sun is warm, but the air is decidedly March-like—crisp and cold; the chilly kind, that gets inside you—and I’m sitting here with a hood over my head wondering what on earth I’m doing out here and how Joseph can bear having nothing on his feet. Maybe the sand is warm. Maybe he’s warmer, somehow. Maybe there’s something in us when we’re young that’s still half-full of Heaven.
