"Backyard Bliss"

A breeze from the window

runs its curling tendrils through

my hair. On it are the songs

from robins outside; a solitary

car passing on the highway;

children's laughter from the

playground behind the

town hall. It's sill light at

7:30, with only a hint of

dusk approaching. We've

all shed our winter coats and

allowed ourselves to rest and

brown against a backdrop

of green and the hot

yellow beating down on us

from above. It reminds me

almost of townhouses, water

balloon fights, and the Ice

Cream Man everyday. When

we were little and we

could spend a whole day

trying to figure out how to set

up the best lemonade stand

ever… and never actually

getting around to setting

it up.

But we haven't set foot on

those lawns in years. Our

home plate and pitchers' mound –

that we had worn away to

perfection – are probably

sprouting fresh growth. Maybe

no one plays there anymore.

It's a shame, it has seven years –

maybe eight – of memories

that are getting away

too distant. And we've all

grown up now, and rarely

do we play kickball, or

wiffleball, or argue over

petty differences or how

I don't know the rules

to football well enough.

Now there are girls

and guys, sports and plays,

school and life… everything

takes thought and decision-

making. Life should be made

as easy as choosing where

the bases go for a pick up

game of kickball.