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The sun’s beautiful rays broke throughleafless branches; fell through the glazed windows to rusty worn-out curtains awaking me on a sound of southern birds, rumbling trees and warm summer days, back to eager memory bringing the sweetest thoughts of happy days.

The joyous laughter of kids playing outside my wooden cottage increased my desire to get up and smell the fresh summer day under the sylvan shades of an Oak tree.

Sunshine’s streaming through the trees intensified the vivid colors of sunflowers and Lilies. Dark trees bent together as though whispering secrets. Still early in the morning, I lie down next to the roses that lay upon the grass like little shreds of crimson silk and slowly I looked at the gleaming sky, curiously staring at the clouds, white clouds like daisies, white clouds like grazing sheep on pastures.

My cozy wooden cottage lasted 20 years of happy and blissful memories. It wasn’t an epicurean castle of fairy tales, but the beautiful antique French furniture, now worn-out and raddled, still looked fresh in my eyes like a new pair of diamond earrings. Every piece of furniture, every antiquity was special, surrounded by the white-gray walls of joyful and sad memories over the years. The small empty lunch table still has the round waxy circle of dripping candles, and the rusty silver spoons no longer shine like the old days.

Up there, my tree house standing still next to shady trees and big green leaves. I’m not sure my tree house will last much longer, because cracks of pine wood are breaking slowly.

Warm breeze making the pine trees sway brings the smell of summer days when I was ten…  I remember. Hair was golden as tints of sunrise, eyes as bright as water of Woodland River. Running around the fields, playing hide and seek and blushing until my cheeks were like roses.  Dragon flies landing on outstretched fingers and butterflies gathering around me like I was a flower.  I remember my grand-mother’s fresh apple pies, and how I used to help my grand-father paint the roof. I love the color blue, like the sky… so beautiful. I used to come back with blue hands and paint all over my clothes.
 I walk, barefooted. I see a small rivulet just next to where I used to sit and hide most of the day, next to the big rock. Glittering like a star, just under the rock I see a key…

I will hide the key under this huge rock and then I’ll come back after 20 years, will you promise to meet me here?  

I waited for him to scrape the candle wax of the table like he promised to; I waited for him to help me build a new tree house… but he never came. I waited for him, but the candle burned-out.

It’s almost dark, night falls like fire… time does fly… the sky glittered with million diamonds and pearls, while silence seems heavy and dark like a passing cloud. After 20 years, I looked back, days past by so fast…. Time drops in decay, like a burned-out candle.

I’ll come back… I’ll come back to hear the cows mow and to listen to the bird’s sweet music, to wake up by the sun’s beam, to smell the fresh, earthy grass, to stare at the stars and for one last time to feel the breeze in my hair.  

I watch kids play, hear their laughter and I look back fondly on my halcyon days, remembering the peaceful and happy times of my youth…

Everything here is so elusive, that the memory come and go like a flash of light.

I’m home.

The End.

4/22/2012 20:29:01

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