There’s a place I know. A place of love and warmth and happy times. To get there, I simply walk across the bridge from today to yesterday. Whenever I cross that bridge, I am a child again, and time stands still.
It’s springtime and lilacs bloom. The sun shines bright. Caterpillars break free from cocoons, transform themselves into fairy-winged butterflies that float past fields of fragrant wildflowers. I walk the lane at my grandparents’ farm, through pastures to the woods. I hunt for rocks worn smooth by a running creek.
Days prolong and slip into summer. Gleeful calls of neighborhood children engaged in endless games of Tag, Simon Says, and Mother May I fill the streets. We play Hide-And-Seek until dark and chase unsuspecting fireflies that light our way home. Mothers talk over fences, sharing gossip, recipes, and community news. Fourth of Julys explode in brilliant colors that burst into dazzling flecks, melding into the night sky.
Summer fades and Autumn fills the trees with golden glow. We bury ourselves in piles of leaves a mile high. Thanksgivings are spent in celebration with friends and families. Aromas from the kitchen permeate the house with the spicy bouquet of cinnamon and sage. We fill our bellies, lapse into food-induced catnaps, then awake and eat more.
Winter is an icy whisper away. It brings with it the anticipation of ice forts, snow angels, and toes and noses frozen by the cold. A blast of warm air meets me at the door, thawing my reddened cheeks. The scent of fresh cut pine fills the house as evergreens wait patiently to be adorned by strings of popcorn, paper chains of red and green, and foil-covered wishbones. Rotund Santas sit atop courthouse steps, ready to welcome starry-eyed, dream-filled children anxious for a Christmas that brings hopes of baby dolls and race tracks.
In this place—one of simplicity and innocence—our imaginations are our realities. Worry, pain, and heartache don’t exist. Our needs are met. We’re tired and we rest. I snuggle into a warm bed. My grandmother tucks me in. I sleep.
Though no longer tangible, those memories still linger as real today as yesterday, yet dangle at my fingertips, just beyond my reach.
