We said goodbye to school

at least until next fall

and “hello” to bare feet

and mud between our toes-

a pleasure closely matched to ice cream cones

and running naked in the rain.

The days lingered lazily

and the sun freckled our faces.

The woods was our world away

from the eyes of parents.

We’d blaze trails and set up “house”

with trees acting as extra “playmates.”

Our bellies became acquainted with nature

as we ate may apples, crab grass,

and occasionally a mud pie for desert.

Nightfall never meant the end to our days

although the mosquitoes

devoured our sweat and mud covered skin.

Fireflies lit a field, setting an awesome wonder in the

blackness of the rolling farm

that no street light could ever match.

Sleep always came so peacefully

as the whippoorwills’ songs swept us

into dreamland

to plan another day of adventure.

All the adults seemed to take on a frenzied

form of labor over gardens,

canning, yards, and auto mechanics;

reminding us how glorious being a child really is and

how sad it’ll be when we must grow up.

Hours were spent under an oak tree

contemplating our plans for

running away from the ever threatening doom

of adulthood.

We made a pact to never let “it” get us

like it “got” our forefathers.

Still today

the lullaby hum of a fan in an open window

takes me back to those carefree days and

reminds me of the pact.

I’ve learned to compromise on it…

I may never run naked in the rain

without much reservation

but

mud between my toes still feels just as wonderful

and

fireflies always make me forget

that I ever really grew up.