The old things

The Old Things

I miss the old things
jumping through colored leaves
hours of raking
seconds of dispersal
hiding below the remnants

I miss the old things
walk across an empty field
grass as tall as me
gently swaying in the wind

I miss the old things
sitting at the edge of the rocky river
tadpoles and trout dart back and forth
in the crystal clear water

I miss the old things
sticking out my tongue on a cold winter’s day
catching snowflakes and magic
drifting down from the sky

I miss the old things
when the world is silent after a fresh snow
plows push towers of white powder toward the sky
in the Caldor plaza
only “I’m king of the mountain” can be heard

I miss the old things
stomping through mud puddles
dirty water splashing into the air
laughing with glee

I miss the old things
the hush renewal after a rainstorm
moving earthworms
from near death on sidewalks and streets
to grass and dirt, and survival

I miss the old things
climbing upon a fallen tree
invisible lightsaber, invisible enemy
parrying back and forth
sunlight illuminating me through the lush, green canopy

I miss the old things
hanging on a branch in my favorite tree
one arm wrapped around the trunk
a simple breeze, blowing through my hair
watching the world go by

I miss the old things that brought me joy
a time apart from the world
I close my eyes, go there again
the old things live inside me