The Road to old memories...

As I sit here contemplating what exactly I should write I can feel the nights chill vibrate through me, it runs up my spine and sends goosebumps down my arms. I love night and all the mystery it brings. The cool fresh air, the many sounds; night creatures you cannot see, the whirl of leaves as the wind picks them up to carry them off to a new home, and the noise that sounds so much like absolute silence. Everything is louder at night, because when darkness engulfs around you it seems to bring a kind of silence with it. Not too many are awake at this hour. Their all safe in their warm beds doing what I love most and often do, dream. Dreaming is a passion of mine. I daydream often and I almost always have dreams while sleeping.

Memories seem a lot like dreaming to me. Remembering those times on the playground swinging by your knees upside down on the monkey bars. You don't realize how wonderful that feeling truly was until you're older and trying desperately to do it again, and just the slightest pressure on the back of your knees sends you screaming in pain. Dreaming about how limber you once were when you could climb up trees like one of the monkeys. So fast, so easy. My fondest memories are of when I was a child, as I hope most peoples are.

I can remember vividly as far back as about 4 or 5 maybe even younger. It's hard to know how old you are in your own visions of the past. It seems funny to me how our minds and memories work. For me, I can't remember everything I've ever done, learned, or read, but I try and soak up as much as I possibly can, more so now then when I was a teen. Mostly I remember my most fun, most horrid, and most intimate memories the best.

My favorite memories are of my childhood in a house I came to love. We didn't have a lot of money growing up, so we lived in an old one story pinkish color house with a worn porch, and weak broken windows covered with a thick plastic and duck-tape--the tape for men. Those things though didn't really matter much to a child because our front-yard was big and our backyard was vast and endlessly full of trees. I loved those days playing hide-and-seek in the woods. I love to run and I was the best at climbing trees so not many could catch me. It was fun and exhilarating being so high up when you're so small. Its strange how you could find yourself deep within the woods in a matter of minutes and still we always seemed to find our way home, though every tree looked the same. The adventures we had were endless. Pirates, soldiers, princesses, kings, ninjas, ninja turtles, and I could go on and on I'm sure. I grew up with two brothers and our next door neighbors were boys, so I was pretty much a tomboy from the get go. There was nothing they could do that I wouldn't try or do myself, even when they said, "No way, you're a girl!" I remember the boys next door had a treehouse and because I was girl there was no way they were letting me up there, and in an 'all boys clubhouse' at that. I would try climbing up the wood planks but they had ammo, pine-combs. They definitely hurt, so ultimately I would give up and go do my on thing like finding frogs, or climbing on things like my playhouse or the shed just so I could jump off. Eventually, the boys would get bored in their "all boy clubhouse" and come join me. It's amusing how that works. Boys are weird for sure.

I still love that pinkish worn down house and those woods. I had my first kiss there, my first set of stitches, and I played my first and last game of beebee gun tag, but those are stories for another time...

Once again, Thank you all for reading.

Krista