The Older I Get, The Less I Know |
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Log:
Day 2- I wrote a short memoir today. I thought I would share it so you don't think I'm going crazy here. I have happy memories too. ;)
Backyard space is often hard to come by in an urban area. However, my family was fortunate enough to have a small yard behind our home. In this yard were small patches of grass and sidewalk that led to the garage and an enormous pear tree standing by the back gate. With pride, I would look down the alley and see our tree was one of the tallest on the block. With its sturdy trunk and outstretched branches, the tree was a forever-friend always waiting for me. While the tree was constantly there, it was constantly changing. In the fall, the dark round leaves would begin to trickle to the ground. My father would meticulously rake the leaves into heaps of foliage while my sister, Kiira, and I would jump into them wearing stretchy sweat pants and knit hats, laughing as we purposely messed up my father’s progress. As fall would give way to winter, the tree would sit there barren and empty. However, it appeared like a caring Mary Poppins watching over us with the snow on its branches and the light from the garage. We would build our snow forts and make snow angels below it as it looked on and smiled at our silly stories of make-believe. I smile remembering Kiira and I inside our gigantic snowball fort whispering so enemies wouldn’t know our hideout location. The tree stood guard there that night. Time passed, and a fresh scent of spring would fill the air. During one specific week of spring, the tree would transform into a radiant woman wearing a lacy dress. The woman would stay only for a short time before she started weeping and white flower petals would fall covering every bit of the yard, making it look like Mother Nature was confused. Shortly afterward, the summer heat would arrive along with the tree’s gifts. My mother would pull out the long pear picker and pull down as many of the large pears as she could reach. Within the next couple of days, we would smell pear pie baking in the oven. And on a hot summer night, Kiira and I would sit on the porch steps and look out onto the tree, enjoying pear pie a la mode. Comments:
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